


The Field of Blood

by Genesister (papirini)



Series: The Helvicta Blues [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Character Death In Dream, Character Study, Drama, Flashbacks, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Gen, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, Mental Link, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Galra Characters - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Reincarnation, Tomato In The Mirror?, Transformation, Unreliable Narrator, canon divergence - post-season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papirini/pseuds/Genesister
Summary: Takashi Shirogane is about to go on a journey to find himself. A journey where, supported by his friends, he learns a secret so shocking that it could potentially decide the fate of the universe - and, along the way, he comes to understand what it means to be a leader. What it means to be himself.Well.Provided the experience doesn't kill him first. Or worse.The final part of the Helvicta Blues.Tags will be added as the work proceeds.





	1. Mahkumlar

A month had passed since Voltron had helped Grellzna overthrow the Galra on their planet.

There were rumblings throughout the Castle of Lions’ communication channels that, after no indication of Zarkon’s continued survival, planets had started to finally rise up and fight back. Where before few distress calls had come in, after Grellzna’s liberation the Paladins had received several dozen hails from planets that, for centuries, had been firmly under the Galra Empire’s hold.

After ten millennia, Zarkon’s work was finally being undone.

Or, that was what the Paladins had thought.

That was certainly what Shiro had hoped, at least. Clearly it didn’t look like it was the case, anymore, if for no other reason than him slowly finding himself returning to consciousness inside a cocoon of blackness. Opening his eyes didn’t seem to help much, either; he could barely make out the walls or the floor, even after his eyes adjusted. There was absolutely no light; even his Paladin armor emitted none. Nor could he move. His arms were somehow restrained.

It was a little too familiar for his comfort, and he could feel his fear begin to claw at the back of his head.

They’d gotten him again. The Galra had gotten him _again_.

He could only just make out voices, seeping into his cell.

_…waki…_

_…cell…ights._

_Ye…_

Purple lights suddenly flooded into his retinas, and he let out a gasp. It was clinically bright, too much so for having been in darkness for so long. The air felt too thick and full to be normal. It was like breathing liquid, even though he could tell there was oxygen mixed in. Enough to let him live, but not enough for true comfort.

Though his eyes still struggled to focus, it was then that Shiro realized he was not in a cell. Not even remotely close. He was in a pod of some kind, with only a small window around his face to let him see beyond himself. It was inside a much bigger room and, at least due to the tint of the window glass, it was now filled with harsh purple light.

Nor was he restrained, at least not by binding, as he had thought. There was just no room to move. And whatever the pod was, whatever was being pumped into it, it was somehow messing with his Galra arm, just enough to prevent him from using it.

If the Druids weren’t on the ship…or base…if they somehow weren’t involved with their predicament in any way, Shiro knew he’d be genuinely surprised, because it sure felt like they were.

“Shiro?”

That voice. It echoed tinny in the pod, like through a radio speaker. It sounded just as groggy as he felt, too. Shiro nevertheless flinched, before he realized whose voice it was speaking through the pod’s audio system.

His voice dripped and dragged like melting molasses as he tried to speak.

“…Keith?”

“Yeah.” Shiro pressed his face towards the glass at the response. Where—wait. There were several pods across from him. It was difficult to see who – or what – was in them, but he had a very sneaking worry that Keith was in one of them. “It’s me.”

There were, after all, four pods aside from his, if he was counting right.

“You all right?”

“…Not really.” Shiro continued to squirm without success. “No room in here. Pretty groggy, too. Are you ok?”

“Feel like I was hit by several trucks.”

“You can….ugh.” That was Hunk’s voice. Wait, there was some vague movement in one of the pods. Was that him waking up? “You can say that again. What happened?”

“…Robeast.” Judging by Katie’s voice and its lack of grogginess, she’d been awake for a while. Stewing about the situation, most likely. “It was outfitted with some kind of teludav component. Caught sight of it before it exploded and tossed us.”

_That was…right. Yeah. That’s right._

Shiro quietly cast his mind back. They were fighting a Robeast. They had been informed by transmission from a cell of the Blade of Marmora that Haggar was on the move. Indeed, for the first time in months, the Blade had finally managed to penetrate the wall of silence that had seemingly descended upon the Empire and its higher command echelon since their battle with Zarkon; they had found a kernel of corn with actual taste, before the doors to the barn were shut again. Military maneuvers, the Blade hailing them explained, were being commenced by a large fleet within the Galra Empire’s home systems. It was a major development – only Zarkon could order such an action.

Or, as the Blade calling them – not Kolivan, it had been a different voice altogether. Higher, possibly more feminine – would point out, it could also be ordered by Zarkon’s proxy, if he was unable to perform his duties as emperor. They still didn’t know even at that moment whether Zarkon was alive, dead, or otherwise, much less what exactly was happening with the high command at large after their massive battle. Their intel gathering was crippled. Losing Commander Thace had been a major blow; he was one of their few higher-ranked spies who worked directly at the Galra Central Command, and replacing him was proving difficult, if not impossible.

But _someone_ was doing _something_ , and it was significant enough for them to have found out without the need of a mole so high up. That was more than enough for worry. As was the last piece of information that the Blade had left them with: Haggar was on a ship, moving towards the Quilpag system of planets. That was only several quintants away from where the Castle was at that very moment.

The team – Shiro, too – had hoped to get the drop on the Druid before she could do any damage to wherever she was going. They decided to intercept, to nip the problem in the bud.

It clearly hadn’t worked out their way.

“And before anyone asks, no.” Pidge’s voice clipped through his thoughts. “I don’t think it would’ve have mattered if Keith broke off from Voltron or not. Or the fact that Keith smoked the Robeast – any of us who destroyed it would’ve set the thing off.”

“You’re right.” Shiro went through all the possibilities and could only see the same outcome as well. “It was a trap, plain and simple. And we fell for it. That’s on all of us.”

“Honestly?” Hunk’s tone was one of concern. “I wasn’t going to blame Keith - I don’t really blame you for this, Keith, seriously - but I _am_ still going to worry about why Keith broke off in the first place. He was pretty shaken just seeing the Robeast, much less…before it started making noise. ”

Keith was silent. Shiro knew all too well why. He pondered if the others knew, or at least suspected.

“That’s…” There was a shaky breath coming from Keith’s comm. Shiro quickly intercepted. “That’s something we can discuss later. When we're not _here_.”

“And…um.” Hunk’s tone became more hesitant as he continued. “Not to scare you guys, but...I can’t seem to feel my Lion.”

“...Yeah.” Pidge’s voice seemed smaller. “Can’t either. Keith?”

It was a long pause before Keith responded, his voice cracking.

“…No.” Shiro swallowed at the answer. He was beginning to get a good idea what was going to happen when he tried to reach for the Black Lion. “Shiro?”

Shiro took a deep breath. Cast his mind out anyways. Tried to. He sent out his feelings, his thoughts. A single question out into the astral ether.

_~Black. Are you there?~_

He waited. Waited for who knew how many tics. There was always a possibility that, maybe, as the leader, he could reach his Lion. No way the other Paladins were weak, of course. But the Black Lion had always been known to be different. Stronger. The Head of Voltron itself.

He felt nothing. Not even the normal tug that would have indicated that the Black Lion and he were in any way connected.

“…No. I don’t feel her.” Shiro pushed down his own panic. “I’m sure there’s a reason for it, though. Maybe these pods.”

“You really think so?”

“If Haggar’s involved with this...it’s possible. She’s capable of doing a lot of things that aren’t otherwise possible outside of her magic.” His side seemed to itch at the memory of his last direct encounter with her. “Once we get out of these things...”

“If they’re what’s causing us not to hear them…”

“I’m sure the Lions are ok.” Shiro nodded, doing his best to be reassuring. “We’ll be able to hear them once we get out of these things.”

_Right?_

“Yeah, no, I’m not hyperventilating or anything.” Said as Hunk was clearly getting close to it. “And I don’t even know what Lance’ll do when he wakes up…he sounded pretty mad about Keith—”

“Like I said, right now that’s not important. We can talk about it when we get back to the Castle. That’s what we need to focus on.” Shiro shook his head. “Keep an eye out, guys. We need to get off this ship alive, and rescue the Lions, wherever they are.”

“What about the Druids?” Keith’s voice was quiet. “What about Haggar?”

“…Haggar.” Shiro managed to roll his shoulders, considering the other’s words. “We’ll have to be careful and figure out what exactly we’re facing. If Haggar’s really on this ship, or any Druids, taking them on directly would be a bad…”

Something in the corner of his eye.

“…idea…”

Was he hallucinating, or was that a streak of white that he suddenly saw? Out of the corner of his eye. It was quick. A little too quick.

“Mmmnnn.” Lance’s voice sloshed through on the radio. “Ok, Keith, word of ca _AA **AH**_ —!“

The noise that came out of Lance’s mouth was an undignified, high-pitched squeak as, all of a sudden, a hooded Druid almost seemed appear in a flash of movement, right in front of what had to be Lance’s pod.

Shiro’s jaw tensed as he watched the creature tilt its head to the side, and heard Lance’s shaking breath, followed by a mumble of ‘oh geez you just scared me’. His Galra arm tensed up, the hand slowly forming into a fist. Whatever the Druid was doing, was attempting to do, they weren’t going to get away with it. Not if he had a say in it.

Then the Druid silently moved onto the next pod, and once they did, another cloaked figure slipped in. Their garb was similar to the Druid’s, save that their garb was completely white, almost surreally so, with gold lining, and in layers much as Haggar’s was. They also seemed to wear gloves over their long, curled claws. It almost floated over towards Lance, head tilted much more stiffly and mechanically than the Druid as it examined him, before they glided to the area in between the five pods like a bird, hood tilted down to the floor, still positioned across from Lance.

“What the heck—“

“GAH!” Lance’s voice was loud. “THAT…WAS UNCALLED FOR! _WARN_ ME NEXT TIME! ”

“Ghk, shut _up_ , Lance!” Keith growled his response. “They don’t care!”

“They’re creepy!”

“And _they don’t care_ —“

“ _Guys._ ” Shiro’s voice sharpened. “We _need_ to stay calm.”

Even if his own heart was pounding harder with each passing moment and action unfolding in front of him. He was definitely not going to mention it.

As the Druid passed by the second pod, going over to the third - what he assumed was Hunk’s pod – a second white-cloaked figure seemed to majestically float in, peering into the pod, before they too slipped to their position facing the second pod.

“Guys?” Shiro could hear Pidge swallow nervously as the ritual was repeated with Hunk. “Hey, Shiro? Gotta ask, do you remember if these weirdos are Druids too?”

“I…” A third white figure flipped into the area in front of the third pod, landing perfectly in front of Hunk and staring at him for several moments before also leaping to the center. “I don’t know. I’ve…never seen them before, I don’t think.”

The longer he looked at the figures, the more he became certain of it. He’d never actually seen them. He had no feeling of _déjà vu_ , no _presque vu_ on the vestiges of his mind teasing him about an epiphany he had forgotten in his year of captivity, be it because of trauma or manipulation. No pain in his head or arm. There was nothing.

These creatures, whatever they were, however they related to the Druids, really were new to him - and the Paladins. Once the Druid passed from the fourth pod, a fourth white figure quietly stalked over. It looked in, even bring its clawed hand up gingerly against the glass of the pod, before slinking to the center, as well.

The Druid didn’t go towards Shiro’s pod, nor did a strange white figure. Indeed, once the last white figure took its place, their heads suddenly tilted up abruptly, almost robotically, towards a door sliding open on a platform above the room. A single, figure moved in, its silhouette haloed by the light from whatever was beyond the room the Paladins were trapped in.

The figure moved forward, and even from the position he was at, there was no mistaking the long, white hair or purple cloak. Not in a million years.

“…Haggar.”

“ _ **Paladins.**_ ”

The silhouette glowed, crackling with the stolen energy of planets and people, before disappearing in a flash. Seconds later, they reappeared, right in front of Shiro. Behind her, Shiro could see the four white figures turn their heads towards her, all simultaneously. Their bird-like masks, much like their cloaking, was white, the glowing eye lines on their plague masks softly glowing gold.

With lightning fast movements, the clacking of heels fuzzily echoed through the air and into his ears, all four fell to one knee, their gloved claws to their chest, their cloaks fluttering like wings above and around them. All bowing to her, simply _moving_ , in perfect synchronization. Even having seen how Druids move, seeing the way these new creatures move so perfectly – too perfectly – in harmony was a new, unnerving experience.

Shiro swallowed as he brought his focus back onto Haggar.

“ _ **Well, well. What a pleasant surprise**_.” The Altean’s contralto voice – perfectly heard, even though she was outside of the pods – almost purred, as she looked back at him with glowing gold eyes beneath her hood. Her face, her mouth, was otherwise unreadable, lacking the smile Shiro remembered so vividly from their fight. “ _ **All five Paladins, and the Lions with them. All in our grasp.**_ ”

Her voice lowers, becoming quiet, even contemplative. Her eyes didn’t leave Shiro’s face, nevertheless.

“ _ **Emperor Zarkon’s dream has finally been realized. At last.**_ ”

“Never.” Shiro’s response was immediate. “The Black Lion’s not his anymore, and the rest of Voltron will never belong to him.”

Haggar’s expression didn’t change as she continued to stare at him. It was ironic, at that moment, that Shiro wished she’d be more emotional. The impassiveness was becoming more worrisome as the moments went by. Particularly when Haggar didn’t respond to him, moving only to clasp her fingers together as her eyes stayed fixed on him.

Shiro was beginning to realize something was very wrong about this encounter, even knowing that being captured by the Druids was bad enough to begin with.

“Y…yeah!” Finally, Lance’s voice cut through the worry boiling in his belly. “Zarkon will never get his hands on the Lions, and you know it. We kicked his butt before, and the moment we get out of he—“

“ _ **Enough out of you.**_ ”

Haggar didn’t move, didn’t do anything else but say that single word. Instantly, a shock of purple energy jolted violently through Lance’s pod, strobing brilliantly for two seconds.

“Lance—!“ Shiro’s eyes shut as his ears popped from Lance’s screams echoing through his pod followed by Hunk’s shouting over Pidge and Hunk’s angry shouts. Followed then by complete silence. “Lance, answer…I…”

There was no response. Hunk’s voice began to crack.

“ _ **Leave…leave him alone! Lance! Lance!!**_ ”

No response from Lance - or from Haggar at the outburst.

“You…you _stupid_ fake pretend Galra! ” Was Pidge punching her pod? That had to be Pidge in that second pod, then. It made sense; she was the smallest of them and had more freedom of movement in the pod. He could hear the clang as her fists hit. “Lance is right and you know it! How about you stop doing Zarkon’s dirty work for once and let him face us again without you helping him out and _chea-_!? ”

Haggar didn’t even look behind her as the pods holding Pidge and Hunk flashed white and purple, the actions punctuated by their screams.

“ _KATIE—!_ ”

 _Don’t panic._ Shiro shut his eyes tightly at the eerie silence that followed. _Don’t let her see your fear. Its what she wants. It's all she-_

“HUNK— _YOU COWARD_! ” His eyes opened at the shouting. This time Keith started screaming. His pod began to shake just slightly as he no doubt struggled violently against the glass and walls. “Come on, you old hag, you gonna hit _me_ with your stupid lightning, too?! Why don’t you just _try_ to hit me!? **_COME ON!!_** ”

“ _Keith_ —!”

Shiro’s sharp shout came too late. Finally, Haggar’s head slowly turned towards Keith’s pod. So much for keeping calm and collected – he was starting to shift and struggle in his own pod, to little avail.

“ _ **Oh?**_ ” Haggar’s voice dripped with unimpressed coyness. “ _ **Is that so?**_ ”

“Yeah!” Keith’s voice was defiant. “How about you try hitting _me_ with quintessence and see what happens, huh? ”

“ ** _…I think not._** ”

That caused Keith to let out a noise of surprise from his throat, and Shiro’s own eyes widened. Indeed, no flashes of light came from Keith’s pod. No screams of pain.

“What…?!”

“ _ **It would be a waste to render you all unconscious. Especially you. A real waste, Red Paladin.**_ ” Haggar raised a hand. “ _ **You’re one of our guests of honor, after all. Expected company, even.**_ ”

Instantly, the white-hooded figures – so silent and stone-like during the whole ordeal, were back on their feet, almost flying off and away from Shiro’s range of sight.

“ ** _You’re lucky you kept your mouth shut. It’s just a shame some of your fellow Paladins are so incorrigible, even as guests._** ”

“Guests.” Shiro spat out the word. “You mean prisoners.”

“ _ **I**_ **mean** _ **…**_ ” Haggar turned her head back towards Shiro, eyes narrowing. “ **Guests** _ **. Of course, I couldn’t have you all running around and making a mess of things before I presented you to your host.**_ ”

“Our _host_?”

 _Zarkon?_ His eyes narrowed as he thought about it. _Why go through this if Zarkon was still in charge? Why even keep us alive?_

“ ** _Indeed. There is just one thing left to do to make you more…presentable._** ”

The white figures returned, each of them carrying a dozen large, cylinder sheaths, which they set in front of them as they kneeled once more. Again, in perfect sync. Again, they were silent, and the Druid from before stepped in, standing behind the creatures, waiting for the witch’s command.

“ _ **Show them.**_ ”

Shiro stared as all four creatures instantly went to the sheaths, each opening one of them with a click and hiss. Each dipped their hand in, lifting the container held within up high above their heads.

“That’s—!”

The creatures were holding up canisters of quintessence.

 _Navy-blue_ quintessence, swirled in with the tell-tale purple quintessence enhanced by Druid magic. It almost looked like colorful ice cream. Innocent and bright, with the two colors mixing together. He, however, knew better. They all did.

“ _ **Ah.**_ ” Shiro could feel his own expression betray him as memories threatened to flood him from the past half-year, what few memories he had of it. Could see Haggar’s lips finally curl into a smile. “ _ **I see you recognize what I have.**_ ”

“…Don’t. Don't you dare.”

Shiro felt his Galra arm twitch. He knew what this was. He knew what this meant. He knew exactly who those containers were for. He didn’t know how Haggar knew. Did she read their minds while they were unconscious? Did someone tell them? But if so, _who_ —

It didn’t matter. He had to stop this, he had to stop her. Of all the things happening at that moment, he knew she had to be kept away from Keith somehow. At all costs and no matter what.

He wished his arm was actually working, for once.

“ _Don’t_ you _dare_ use that on him!”

“ _ **Oh?**_ ” Haggar finally seemed more like the cruel witch Shiro remembered. There was a hint of merriment, of enjoyment, of bemusement in her tone. “ _ **What, I wonder, will you do if I…did give the Red Paladin this…rather remarkable quintessence?**_ ”

“Shiro.”

“…Whatever I did.” Shiro’s voice lowered. A warning. He knew he couldn’t face Haggar directly. She knew too much about him. But he could at least give her food for thought. “Doesn’t matter as much as the fact I would make you regret _ever_ touching him with that stuff.”

“Shiro.” Keith’s voice became more insistent. “Shiro, we’ve talked about this…”

“I—I know,” Shiro bit his lip. “I…I know you’re ok with this. But I...”

“You know I’ll be fine.”

“…I know you’ll be fine.”

It was a mantra they repeated, whenever Keith opened up about his time away. His time on that ship, the _İrem_. His time as a Galra. Not just Keith with Galra heritage. Keith as a _Galra_. Every time Keith would reveal something new, good or bad, it made Shiro worry. Somehow, Keith would always know that Shiro held fear even though it was past. It happened, it had been, but was not anymore.

There was still always the possibility it could happen again. That was what Shiro feared most.

 _I was fine_ , he would say. _It wasn’t all terrible. The truth is, if I ever became a Galra again…if I had to make that decision…I wouldn’t be scared._

Yet it had been Shiro who had raised the gun as he saw the Galra approach the escape pod, after all.

_I’ll be fine if that ever happened again._

“You’ll just have to try harder, witch.” Keith’s defiance lost none of its edge. “Whatever it is you’re planning? Changing me into a Galra’s not going to help you.”

“ _ **…Oh, Red Paladin. You and the Champion are both such fools.**_ ”

The smile on Haggar’s lips seemed to become more pronounced as her eyes remained fixed on Shiro.

“ _ **What makes you think I would waste something so precious and special on the likes of**_ **you** _ **?**_ ”

Shiro felt his blood run cold, and the color drain from his face, as the words fell from her lips. On Keith. No – not on Keith.

“ _ **Go.**_ ”

She wasn’t going to use the quintessence cocktail on Keith.

“What…” His mind instantly went to every possibility – Hunk, Lance, Pidge – and his breath quickened at the thought of the witch harming them with what was in front of him. Doing it while he watched, helpless to save any of them. “What do you mean by that?!”

“ ** _Now._** ” She ignored Shiro’s question. Instead, she motioned her head, and instantly, the white-cloaked figures were up on their feet, carrying the canisters away from Shiro’s field of vision. “ ** _Prepare the pod._** ”

Shiro felt his pod emit a ding, and a rush of cold air hit his upper back. It was followed by a pricking sensation near his neck, right above his spine. A needle, pressed right onto his skin and ready to inject him.

That was right. There was one more possibility for who those canisters were for.

_Him._

“Wh—what are you doing, Haggar?!” Keith’s tone over the radio became panicked as he no doubt realized what Haggar was planning. He could hear the pleading. The negotiating. “You can’t—Shiro isn’t—that quintessence…it won’t _work_ on any humans! Its radioactive, it’ll make them sick, but it doesn’t do anything else to humans! ”

He could also hear clicking and beeping noises above his head, followed by the sound of the end of the needle exposed to the outside of the pod. The clinking of canister glass as they were placed together. The twisting, sucking sound of a connector being fastened to the needle.

“It—the elimi—the eleph—“

 _Elantinery._ The liquid form of elantinine. Shiro hadn’t forgotten the word when he first heard it from Pidge. She had commented that Keith never pronounced it right, no matter how hard he tried.

“ ** _GHHK!_ ** Whatever, it only works on Galra genes! It only works on people who have Galra genes and…and something else to _suppress_!! ”

The glass of a canister, sliding down onto the connector.

“It only works on me!!” Keith was practically screaming, desperation straining his throat. “IT ONLY WORKS ON ME!! HAGGAR!! I’M THE ONLY PALADIN IT WORKS ON, YOU OLD IDIOT!! _IT’S GOING TO KILL HIM IF YOU_ —!”

“ _ **Is that so.**_ ”

The bemusement of Haggar’s words were obviously no comfort to Shiro. It didn’t slow the pounding of his heart, or slake the cold sweat forming on his brow. Nor were they meant to be. He knew what Haggar was about to do. He knew it was inevitable.

The navy-blue quintessence – mixed with other quintessence or no - was about to be injected right into him. He knew how dangerous elantinine was, thanks to Pidge sticking Keith repeatedly, but normally, it wouldn’t be so terrible for a human. Deposited in the air, he would have been fine, even if he’d breathed it in. He would have recovered if anything had actually happened.

Stuck directly into his body? There was likely enough radioactivity in one canister to kill him in minutes once his spinal cord was exposed to it, if not hours. Nor was it a question of if Haggar would do something so despicable and petty, just to no doubt spite him for what they did to Zarkon.

It was going to happen. It was happening, and there was nothing either of them were going to be able to do about it. All he could do was make his body go slack, and brace himself for the needle entering his body.

He took a deep breath. _Stay calm. Be your own advice. Patience breeds focus, but focus breeds calm._ He could do this for his Paladins, if nothing else. He could be strong for Keith now, after being unable to do so beforehand, back when Keith had needed him to be the most.

Let worry and panic just go right out of—

“ _ **Let’s find out what happens to the Champion together, shall we…Kılıç?**_ ”

He could hear Keith let out a gasping breath at the name. Shiro’s own breath hitched, and his body instantly tensed at the name. 

That didn’t just happen. No—that—there was no way she could know.

That wasn’t just any name. That was the name he remembered the Galra – Admiral Otac – calling him. Calling _Keith_. That was a name meant to die along with the Helvicta, a name that shouldn’t have existed anymore within the Galra Empire. Otac had given his word to Allura – to all the Paladins that were conscious at that time.

He _saw_ Admiral Otac erase his existence with his own eyes.

Yet it was Haggar – _Haggar_ – that had called him _Kılıç_ just now.

 _How did she know_ —

He didn’t have the chance to further react or say anything before he felt the pain shoot right into his spinal cord, the _crunch_ of bone accompanying it.

“ ** _SHIRO—!!_** ”


	2. Büyüme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a small note, for those who read the previous two parts of The Helvicta Blues from here on out, I did a small bit of clean-up and tightening of language, spelling errors, and a teeny tiny plot hole or two. Whoops. I'm sure I missed a few things, but for now, we're good.
> 
> Also looking to clean up a part of this chapter (which will be very obvious when one gets to that point...) to actually make color fonts, so...this here's to hoping this isn't the final final version of this chapter, right?
> 
> So. Back to our current story.

The first sensation he felt right after the needle slip into him was cold. The sensation of the quintessence entering his spine was frigid liquid ice, a chill which turned into almost-unbearable, fiery heat. Suddenly light hurt, as his eyes dilated. Suddenly everything hurt from what was seeping into his body.

Gasping was only the very first reaction he had. He violently shook, seized, flopped as his body tried to get away from the needle, from the source of the newfound pain. His face smashed against the glass so hard that he was certain his nose would break under the impact of his convulsions on the unforgiving surface.

No matter what his body tried, no matter how it thrashed, the needle stayed put. It moved with him, back and forth, stuck in his bone and marrow good and tight. 

The second was Keith’s angry, terrified screams echoing through his ears, emanating from the pod’s audio systems.

“ **YOU MONSTER!!** ”  He could hear the pounding of Keith’s body on the pod. He was practically checking it, as if smashing his shoulder repeatedly really would free him. “ **YOU _QUIZNAKING MONSTER_!! I’LL TEAR YOU APART!! DO YOU HEAR ME?! _I WILL RIP YOU APART, WITCH!!_** ”

“K…” He could feel his own body try to desperately fight the invading essence and fail. His voice came out as a croaking groan as his tongue tasted the foreign substance being pumped into his body, bit by bit. Smelled it in his nostrils. Felt it between his eyelashes. “ _Keith._ ”

_Don’t do this. Don’t give her a reason to kill you. Voltron’s going to need you more than ever now._

He can’t say all of that, not like this. His throat was burning with nerves and juices he didn’t even know he had in his mouth. It inhibited his ability to speak much.

“ ** _Hm. Such a strong reaction to my work, and we have barely even started. Your friendship with him must be important for you. Perhaps you crave indulgence in seeing what the Champion’s fate is, then._** ” Haggar made a simple motion of her head towards Keith’s pod. “ ** _Bring him over. Let him see everything up close. Soon enough you’ll wish I had knocked you out like the others._** ”

Three of the creatures flipped over his pod, causing it to shake, and in lockstep proceeded towards Keith’s holding spot. One of them paused, gently pressing their claws against the glass, before all three began to easily glide the construct towards Shiro’s position. As he got closer, he could see the terrified look on his friend, and he could feel, alongside his pain, a deep pit of regret and sorrow forming in his stomach.

“ ** _And continue with the injection process._** ”

Again. He was leaving the Paladins – his friends - _again_. He was leaving Keith to pick up the pieces after him, _again_. Even after he promised he would never do it again, intentionally or unintentionally.

He could faintly hear the clink of glass, and the sucking of liquid clasping onto the needle, as the empty container was replaced with a fresh, full container of the deadly substance being forcibly coursed through his veins. Felt his eyes start to flutter, his vision becoming covered with black splotches.

He had told everyone, he wasn't going to leave them. He had  _promised_.

“Shiro.” His vision blurred, then focused, on Keith's pod. The other’s forehead was leaned onto the glass, and his face was dark. Flushed. Likely hyperventilating. He could almost see the scar on his cheek. “Shiro, stay with me. Keep your eyes open. _Please_. Shiro—! ”

“Keith.”

If he could at least _pretend_ he was calm at this moment. If he could at least _try_ to die in defiance. It was the best he could do now, wasn’t it? His best was just never enough. Now, whatever his best was at that moment, it would have to be enough. He forced himself to form basic words to try and reassure him.

“B—breathe. Breathe, you will get—“

He seized up as he felt a sharp pain in his head, emanating from his spine, then rolling up to his head, to his eyes. He let out a throaty gasp as the back of his eyes burned.

“…you… _will get out_ of here! _NNNN **GHNGK**_!!”

His mouth screamed – _he_ screamed -  with pain, the nerves of his teeth rippling with sudden, increasing sensitivity. The veins in his eyes felt ready to pop. Pain. Hot. He was hot, and cold, and feeling just _wrong_. His head smacked against the glass, hard, as the pain came in another wave, pulsating down from his temple to his human hand and feet with the beating of his increasingly-loud and quickening heart.

“I’m…” Keith’s voice cracked. The tininess of the radio was becoming increasingly grating to his throbbing eardrums. “I’m not leaving without you. I’m _not_ —“

“Ke _iTH_ —“ He felt blood begin to gurgle in his mouth. His teeth throbbed. “You can’t...stay, I…I…”

_Getting hard to think. Can’t speak again._

The third canister clinked into position, the sound now louder than before, grating into Shiro’s eardrums.

“ _Gnnmm_.” Another violent tremor. He can feel liquid push from his mouth, leaking down his chin. He forced himself to spit it out over his shoulder. “Ha…”

He froze when he heard the clattering of three of his teeth as it fell to the floor of the pod, right next to his feet. Already. Already he was losing teeth. Just how fast _did_ Haggar intend to kill him? Was this revenge for Zarkon? It _had_ to be. He was the Black Paladin, and Shiro had taken the one thing which truly still linked him and the Galra Empire to Voltron, right before they destroyed him. She had to harbor resentment and hatred for them, and could let loose with it now that they were all in her grasp.

The Druid’s unexpected expression of increasing amazement – even _joy_? – seemed to indicate otherwise. Her clawed hands slowly came up in gnarled supplication towards Shiro’s pod, as she let out a hiss of what he could only think of as exhilaration.

It was seriously terrifying to see the witch look this genuinely happy.

“ _ **Yes.**_ ”

She breathed out, as another, more violent spasm of pain hit him, this time, shooting to his lower back, his legs and ears. The tension in his body was ever-increasing with each passing second that the quintessence stayed in his body. Tightness began to build everywhere. She’d put too much in him.  He was certain he was going to pop if it kept going like this, and he knew there was still more to put in him.

“ **Yes…** ”

“…Hnn…?”

“ _ **At last…**_ ”

“Shiro…?” Pidge’s voice groggily spoke, smashing into Shiro’s head like a sledgehammer. “Wh—what’s happening? Keith!? Keith—“

“W-woah!” Lance’s voice was next. It piled onto Pidge’s voice, and his ear drums screamed as it was compounded by the changing of the last canister. “Hey, what are you doing over there to our leader, you old biddy!”

“ _ **All of my work…**_ ” There was ecstasy in Haggar’s cracking voice, and it mixed in, adding to the increasing cacophony. She also completely ignored Lance. “ _ **…was not in vain after all…!**_ ”

“Shiro.”

There was an expression on Keith’s face as the Black Paladin found himself looking back at the one being forced to watch everything up close. The one being whose voice wasn’t hurting yet, who hadn’t been knocked out at all and spared any bit of this ordeal. It was a look of terror, one that sit awfully on Keith’s face, at least to Shiro. Keith shouldn’t have had to be terrified about him, or of him, on any level. That was what he’d vowed, after what had happened.

After what had happened on the Irem, when he’d hurt Keith. Even though Keith had forgiven him, it wasn’t quite so easy for Shiro to forgive himself. Never was. And here, again, he was. He was hurting Keith without even touching him.

There was something else in the creases of his brow, as well, and the slow opening of his mouth. Realization. Instantly catching onto the unfolding disaster in front of him. Keith could see what was happening to Shiro. Whatever it was, he could see exactly what was happening.

“Your _eyes_. Oh god, _no_ , it—this isn’t—!”

It was followed by devastation, and Keith abruptly slammed his upper body into the pod, shouting even louder. The shouts added themselves to the increasing pressure and irritation that was forming in Shiro’s body, from hearing so many people and things and _sounds_ —

“Let him go.” The slams became more desperate as his pleas were ignored. “Let him _go_! _Let him out_!! You _need_ to—!”

“Keith,” Pidge’s voice was panicking, and he could hear the short hyperventilating breaths she was taking in. “What’s happening to Shiro!? What’s wrong with his—”

“This isn’t right.” Keith looked ready to cry. To fall apart. To break. He slammed the pod again. Why? He had to save his energy. He had to be strong. Keith had to lead Voltron. Keith had to be _strong_. What was he _doing_? “ This…let him out!! _LET HIM OUT_!! ”

“Keith, you’re not helping my panic!” Lance’s voice was sounding more and more like the screeching of an immature peacock. God, Lance needed to _shut up_. “ What is happening!?”

“ ** _RIGHT NOW!!_** ”

“Come on!” Now Pidge was pounding her pod again. Pain in his ears. “ _GHK_! Keith! If you’re not going to tell me what you’re _looking_ at…! ”

Tightness in his chest. His armpits. His feet. Pain in his feet. His legs. Even his metal arm was starting to react, and he could feel its inner workings shudder and spark with energies clashing with one another. Suddenly, through his pain, through the continuing clink of changing quintessence canisters, he felt too tight.

Too _loud._

“ ** _HAGGAR—!_** ”

“What is happening—“

“Hunk? _Hunk!?_ Are you awake—he’s not— “

Everyone was too loud. His eardrums felt too bloated. Too throbbing. Like the rest of his body, too small for everything happening at that very moment. No one seemed to notice. Everyone was talking. _Everyone kept talking._

“Stop…”

“I swear to god, Keith, _TELL US_ what is _happening_!! ”

“Haaaa…. _haaaaaa_ …!”

“Guys, _guys,_ Hunk isn’t responding— “

His throbbing fingers couldn’t even go to his ears, constricted as he was. His fingers, in gloves that were suddenly getting tight. Bones screaming angrily at him from deep in his skin. His face with the sensation of melting from stinging, flaming needle pinpricks on his jawline. His scalp tingling soon after.

It didn’t feel like death, or what Shiro thought death would be like this. Just pain. Unbearable pain, and _irritation_.

“ _Stop_ —!”

The scraping of feet on the metal floor outside the pod. Haggar’s breath hissing into his mind as if she were right next to him. That last canister – how fast had all of those canisters been used? Did he not notice? Did he lose count somewhere? How long had they been injecting him? - slowly being taken out, the needle with it, which he didn’t even feel leave his spine with all of the sensation otherwise overwhelming him throughout his body.

He could hear it all. The sound of his armor creaking over his chest, trying to stretch along with the black under armor. The thud of his teeth as they kept falling out of his mouth, and clinking on the floor as if they were being jammed down the canal. Everyone’s voice turning into an overbearing typhoon of words that made no sense, and sounds that kept hammering into his brain, causing his eyes to tear up.

Too tight. Too small. Too loud. He was slipping too fast and even though he knew it, deep down, it didn’t mean anything. Nothing meant anything. His rational thoughts slipped further and further from him the further the torture went, the more the quintessence settled into him, the more it ripped him apart.  The more basic and animal he thoughts became, the more _angry_ he felt. The more a new sensation of _kill_ bubbled up from his roiling stomach. The more he wanted to find who was talking, and rip them to shreds, and then he would _take their skulls_ and **_then he_** —

He couldn’t take it. It was too much and he could feel the remaining, frail remnants of the tightened string that was his temper as it snapped with a single snip.

“ ** _SHUT UP!!_** ” The voices finally, instantly went silent. Good. He kept screaming even so, unable to stop himself. The cork had popped off the lid with nothing to stop it from flying across the room.  “ ** _EVERYONE JUST—_** ”

The next sensation was pure vertigo as, suddenly, everything around seemed to lurch _down_.

The pain shot from his head as his crown smashed straight into the top of the ceiling of the pod, his knees buckling as he shot up. He found the pod around him cracking and giving way from this, and he found his arms – suddenly longer – could somehow move. He grabbed his head, letting out an inhuman shriek even as his growing limbs and trunk forced him to lean over further and further, his prison becoming rapidly less able to simply contain him. He was covering his ears, his head, but nothing was working. He could see the veins squirm in his arms underneath the increasingly stretching black material, before the black gave way to his bruising, purple skin. The loud cracking and ripping sounds from his breastplate, from all of his joints, from all of the places that were forced to give way to the sudden _bigness_ of their wearer.

A bigness that was only _increasing_. Now, the cracking pod was just too small for him and only getting smaller, his body forced to contort against his will to fit what had been a larger chamber beforehand lest it simply turn into a pile all around him.

Which was a very distinct possibility. His armor was being broken apart from within. It hurt. No, the growing hurt. No, the ripples of pain from his spine. He didn’t know which was what or what did which. He couldn’t think and then, everyone was screaming again and his ears were ringing again and his body kept getting bigger and the sound were too much and it needed to stop and oh god his ears _HIS **EARS**_ —

…His ears.

He knew, as his ears ripped apart. As his eardrums exploded in his ears, shooting blood onto the breaking glass. At the same time he finally felt his spine give way to the stretching, and _snap_. He violently seized, further blood coating the insides of his pod when his bloated fingers burst open to black bone. As he saw Keith’s eyes become like saucers, his mouth moving but not making sounds, when he smashed his body into hos own pod so hard it finally made a crack in the glass. Saw tears in Haggar’s eyes. _Tears._

Or perhaps they were his tears.

He could see the color his blood was as it dripped down in front of his dimming eyes, which rolled up to the back of his head as he finally – mercifully -  succumbed to the pain. He felt like he was falling, though that didn’t matter. If he fell and dashed his brains, he wouldn’t care. In that moment, there was a glimmer of his original rational thought that screamed what would have otherwise been obvious to him, in any other situation.

He really wasn’t dying.

It was much worse.

 

* * *

 

It was some time before Shiro’s eyes finally opened. It was the sound of feet on metal. His feet on metal.

“Wh—“

It was dark. Dark, hard to see, and cramped. The pod? No. Haggar was nowhere to be found. He was free, and no longer in pain, but he didn’t know where he was. It was like he was stuffed inside a vent, back down on the cold paneling. Grunting, he slowly began to turn onto his belly.

And froze when he realized he was lacking an arm. His Galra arm. His breath hitched further when he realized his still-attached arm was holding a gun.

He...escaped? And lost his arm in the process? When in the world did _that_ happen? Was this some kind of joke? Or else, had…had what just happened been a sick _joke_? A mind trick by the witch to break his defenses? Had the entire situation he’d just been in been a lie, and this was what was happening at that moment?

Or…or was _this_ the trick? Were the Druids watching him, even now? He felt like he was being watched. And with only one arm, even holding a weapon, gave him no advantage. The worrisome familiarity which bubbled up about the situation didn’t help, either.

He slowly slid, groaning from the strain on his body just to push himself towards what looked like the end of the vent. His flesh arm couldn’t be _this_ weak, could it? He been forced to strengthen it for the fights, after all. Had practically been doing nothing _but_ fighting since coming to space, and then, once at the Castle, kept his prowess up in the training room. Yet he felt atrophied and tired. Drained. Outright exhausted. He kept having to stop to catch his breath.

Just another moment to breathe.

 _No, keep going._ He felt himself urge himself on. _You have to keep going. You have to get out of this._

His face finally touched wall. A vent, of some kind.

 _The Galra are_ _here._   _They are here and they will kill you if they find you here._

He pushed one more time, falling into a dark hallway. As he wobbled, trying to stand, he supported himself on the pipes jutting out of the walls with his hip, staring at the strange doorways on the other side, their Galra numbers glowing above them. The doors were large and wide, like that of a cargo ba—

His eyes widened, words from his waking hours suddenly filling his head. A cargo bay. A _secret_ cargo bay, that he shouldn’t have been able to access. Certainly, even if crawling through the vents had worked again, there was no way he should have been able to _be_ here. This had to be fake. This place was half a universe away, for all he knew.

This place. No—this ship.

He was back on the _İrem_.

How was he back on the _İrem_?

He never left the ship, did he?

_…A trick. This isn’t real. I did leave. I remember—_

_I need to keep going._

Trick or not, memory or not. He knew now where he was, and what was going on. There was a battle, and in his hand was a gun, still slick with his sweat from firing it over and over at enemies, real and imagined. He’d attacked without restraint, and soon, he’d managed to find the vent to crawl in. He remembered, and knew.

He also knew what was going to happen now that he was down here. He didn’t want it to happen. He couldn’t bear going through it again, knowing how this situation was going to end. He knew, he _remembered._ Still he couldn't resist. It was a memory, and because it was a memory, he knew, from times past, it couldn't be changed, no matter how terrible it was. It would be as vivid and bright and real and _awful_ as the day it all happened, just as every time before he found himself recalling the memories of his time in space. Of his crimes.

So his feet ran, quick as they could, until he had gotten to the very end of the cargo bay hallway. It was just like before – the maze-like arrangement of the boxes, leading to the promise of the escape pod at the end. No matter how he struggled, his body went through the motions. If this _were_ a dream, surely he could stop himself? Surely he _could_ change things, even if he knew it was futile in real life? Turn the gun into a popsicle. Change the boxes into clouds. Back away from this room, rip open a new door, and walk into his room on the Castle as if the two were connected.

It wasn’t working, no matter how Shiro tried, no matter what he attempted. And if this wasn’t a dream, as he’d hoped, then _what was it_? He knew the answer and yet at the same time, he didn't know. Somehow, he couldn't know.

His breath hitched as he ducked down between the escape pod and the boxes nearest it. There was the sensation that he was being watched. He knew it was Admiral Otac and yet at the same time he - again - knew it wasn’t. It could not possibly be.

He already understood what Otac’s fate had been, after all. He’d been there, at the battle, when Keith had caused Voltron to destabilize.  Of course he was there. How could he not be? He wouldn’t forget something that had happened so little a time ago. Well, no – he would. He knew he would, with everything else he’d blacked out. But he refused to block this out. He couldn’t forget, if only for Keith’s sake.

Keith, who was on his way now, and didn’t know what awaited him when he arrived.

Shiro’s breath began to quicken as he remembered the Robeast. No, not just remembered – was there. He was _there_ , right then, as it was released from its cage, and then it…simply floated in the void of space around the Quilpag system, not attacking. Not defending. It was simply doing nothing. It was true they’d formed Voltron, but only because they didn’t know what to expect.

_**Let’s get in closer, everyone.** Him. Shiro.  **Get ready for a fight.**_

_Summer. Lance. _ _Let’s_ _think of summer._

**_This thing._ ** _Keith._ **_Familiar…_ **

~~_Robeast._~~ _Pidge._ ~~_We need to stop it._~~

_**…I’m…I’m ready**. _

_**~~Why...~~** Hunk. ~~**Why isn’t it attacking?**~~_

_Summer. Beautiful. ~~Steel ourselves.~~_

_**It could be a trap.** _

_**It’s** ~~alw~~ **a** ys a t ~~rap.~~_

~~**_I told you so, Lance._ ** ~~

~~_Movement! You ok there, Keith?_ ~~

_What—_

_All it did was let out a great groan. It was like the pistons of a train screeching to a halt, mixed with a strange, animal-like howl. The manner of animal didn’t matter, as much as the rankling in the bones that it produced. Even with minds together, it echoed hard and loud and deep, with despair and pain and want. Terror, most of all._

_Terror_ for _them, not against them._

_~~**O**~~ h god. Oh **~~god,~~** what **~~is it do~~** ing?_

**_That sound._ **

_~~Don’t let it do that again.~~ **I have an idea.**_

_**~~Scary sound. Scary Robeast.~~** It’s not doing anything. **We’re not doing anything, either.**_

** _Not a sound._ **

~~_Keith. it was a sound._ ~~

**_No._ **

_Suddenly, full-blown panic. Not from them. Not from all of them._

Him.

_~~Ke~~ it ~~**h?** ~~ _

**…No** _._

_**No?** _

_The next thing had been a scream. Keith’s, in the mind at first. Then on the comms, as Shiro’s mind suddenly felt itself being shoved back into his own body, back alone, his Lion spiraling backwards from the others._

_“Black!”_

_He had slammed his hand onto his console as he felt himself start succumbing to the vertigo and disorientation of G forces, while his Lion tried regaining equilibrium once more. He could hear everyone shouting, even as Keith’s own voice abruptly cut off and become silent._

_“Black, cut comms to everyone else, try and connect to Keith!”_

_Nothing. Keith must have turned his helmet off or tossed it from him. Keith never did that unless he was ignoring everyone. And Keith didn’t just ignore everyone unless something was very, very wrong._

_And no matter what the circumstances, Keith didn’t – wouldn’t - just single-handedly destabilize Voltron for no reason._

_“Allura!” Shiro breathed more steadily as he felt his Lion restore control and atmospherics to his cockpit.  “Allura, try and get Keith on comms with me and only me, right now. He’s not responding to anyone. Something is wrong!”_

If only he’d known how bad it was going to get.

Shiro’s own breath steadied as he found himself back on the ship. The Irem, in the past, with just a blink. That was right. That was the past as well – the near past, not so near as the Robeast, but still past. That had happened. It was done.

And it meant only one thing.

Admiral Otac was the reason they were there, wasn’t it? It was.

Admiral Otac was—

_Footsteps._

_No. Yes. He’s coming._

Ah. He remembered this. Back to this. Keith.

He knew it was Keith. Maybe not on a conscious level, maybe not even at that moment, but deep down where he was and wasn’t part of this horrible exercise in futility? Thinking back, it was obvious who it had been. Indeed, he was the only one it could have been, walking in slowly, stealthily. The hair, longer but still in the style of his friend, as it popped up in between several of the boxes. The face still holding some of the features Shiro would know anywhere, should have known.

And still, even now, Shiro hid. It had to be a lie, it needed to be. Zarkon would do anything to get his Lion. Haggar would do anything to gain her Champion again. If that meant a Galra would have to tangle personally with him, well, why not? What better, glorious tale for a Galra peon, then to boast of their victory over such a prized fugitive, all for the greater good of the Galra Empire and everything it represented!

Hate and fear and power. That was what being a Galra was to them. That was all that _mattered_ to them. He was better than that. He would _always_ be better than that. He would _never_ let himself be caught again. They wanted him? They would pay for it dearly.

When he saw the figure in the cargo bay, nearing the escape pod that Shiro had scouted out, he fired.

Inside, he felt himself crumble.

_Keith!_

The Galra let out an animal shriek as it fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Shiro slowly went to him, breath quickening. Of course it would make such a noise. It was a Galra. Monsters. Violent, uncaring monsters. They were a plague on the galaxy, who did nothing but hurt and kill. There may have been good ones somewhere, but here?

No. They were one of the enemy.

 _No. No, he isn’t. This is Keith. Every time you’re back here! Every single time! It’s_ been _him…!_

Shiro found himself ignoring himself as he went to grab the injured Galra soldier.

_Stop!_

He knew how this would go.

“You Galra…really are something.” He practically stomped towards the shocked, prone figure of his friend, suddenly feeling nothing but a desire for venomous, righteous vengeance towards him. “You _animals_ think you can keep _capturing_ me? Keep me _imprisoned_? Make me your _puppet again_!?”

_Not again, for the love of…its Keith!_

He slammed the Galra into the wall with his one arm, ignoring the blood on the other’s leg. He held him by the scruff of his neck as he did so.

“WELL... _NO_ … ** _MORE_**!!”

He smacked the Galra’s head against the wall. Then again. Wait. He hadn’t done _that_ , had he? He didn’t remember doing…

The Galra gasped, eyes widened as his limbs went limp. Seeing Keith like this, scared, at his mercy, knowing any moment could be ended at Shiro’s hand. It was exhilarating.

It was _wrong_. Keith was his _friend_.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Can’t look at me? You’re _scared_ of me, huh?”

He was _remembering_ this _wrong_ —

“ _You should be._ ”

Keith’s mouth gurgled as, suddenly, he was slammed head-first against the wall, then dropped on the floor as a broken heap.

“I…should kill you right now.”

No, _no,_ this wasn’t how it went, Keith was hurt but Keith had been alive. Keith had pleaded for him to leave and forget about him, Shiro didn’t attack him again. He’d been scared, but this. This was different from every other time he’d recalled it. Too different. Keith had said something. Shiro had also said something. One had been incoherent with fear, the other trying to reach him.

He hadn’t wanted this. He didn’t take the gun back out, either, no, stop, stop, _this isn’t happening STOP_ —

This wasn’t fear he was feeling. This was something worse. It almost felt _happy_.

“I…think I will!”

Shiro almost laughed as he shot his prisoner in the chest, turning his torso into a mess of purple and blue. One of his eyes lost its yellow sheen, revealing Keith’s normal eye, staring up at him in sheer terror as it started to glaze over. All Shiro, could feel staring back at it, wasn’t worry, shock, or fear for his friend.

It was annoyance. He was still reacting to Shiro’s presence. He was still giving Shiro a ridiculous, pleading expression on his stupid face.

He wasn’t _dead yet_.

_STOP!_

Shiro would show him.

His breath quickened as he looked around. No, the gun wasn’t enough. It was messy but it wasn’t enough to end this miserable life. That was when he spotted the discarded metal item, which had flown out of the Galra’s hands when he was first shot.

The arm.

_STOP!!_

Perfect.

He grabbed it up, feeling the weight of the metal, tossing it up until his hand grasped the wrist. Staring at it.

**_STOP!!_ **

Then, with lightning speed, he swung, the clanging sound of the arm hitting flesh just so satisfying. It felt good. _So_ good. But not enough. He needed more. He swung again. Blood spewed from the Galra’s mouth. 

Again. He hit again.

Shiro was screaming, but of course he couldn’t hear himself. Even in this dream, this memory, which was absolutely wrong. Whatever this was. He didn’t want this. He didn’t enjoy hurting Keith. Even in his worst nightmares he’d stopped when he saw Keith’s face, or it stopped because he woke up. Even when he woke up he could hear Keith, and he remembered how he had been so close to doing something unforgivable.

This time it was different. This time, even as he screamed for it to stop, to put the brakes on this moment, he didn’t want to wake up. This time he didn’t just enjoy it. He reveled in it. Let his instincts overwhelm him so he could hurt someone, no matter who it was. Let him die. Let him _suffe_ r. It would feel good. It did feel good. Better than anything he’d felt in months – years.

“Ha…ha…ahaha!!”

Letting out several deep, rasping breaths, he started laughing – crying, even - as he kept hitting, and hitting, and hitting, and doing it as hard as he could. long after Keith stopped reacting, long after his face was nothing but a pile, and he began smashing into other parts of the body. Blood and bile splattered onto his face, completely covered the metal arm. It was warm and fresh. Shiro licked his lips and felt iron. Iron, and sweet, sweet quintessence.

“ _AHAHA **HA**!!_ ”

He couldn’t stop it, could he? He couldn’t. He could feel his mind change, could feel the temptation, the pull of ripping his enemies apart. Pulling anyone apart who got in his way. Turning them into nothing, grinding them beneath his feet for _daring_ to sully the ground he walked on. It was overwhelming. _Amazing_ , even as he simultaneously tried and failed to pull away.

He'd been faking the thirst for blood and death as the Champion, he really had been. He felt disgust with what he could recall, that he could do such terrible things to other, innocent, living beings, for his own survival. That he could instill fear towards him in others, merely by the mention of his name, and the reputation it brought in the Galra Empire.

Here? Here, he found himself wanting _more blood_.

“ ** _FOUND Y_** —!?”

He grinned as he turned, saw the new Galra. The one that had captured him to begin with. He was already lunging, a screech leaving his lips as he bared his teeth, right at the pirate’s throat.

 _No._  

He killed Keith. That _weak_ friend.

**_NO!!_ **

What was another body in comparison to him? What was another, or _another, or another or **another or**_

 **_NO_ ** _—_

The sensation of iron and quintessence further filled his mouth, and he sputtered and gasped, as his eyes finally opened wide. Get a hold. _Get a hold of_ —

“Keith—?!”

Keith didn’t respond.


	3. Yansıma

Keith didn’t respond, because he wasn’t there. The sensation of liquids, natural to his body or not, came from the inside of his own mouth. Opening his eyes brought him back to the present as his body tried to catch a full breath without panic.

A dream. It was all just a dream, it had to be. Being back in the _İrem_ , killing his friend. The sudden, unexpected violence as Shiro battered his body until he was covered in blue blood. Him enjoying it all. It hadn’t happened, he _knew_ it hadn’t happened that way.

Shiro was better than that. Wasn’t he? Hadn’t that bloodthirsty gladiator simply been a facade, a means of survival, the details which he mostly – mercifully – forgot? He suddenly wasn’t sure. Not when the memories of him in the strange pod slowly trickled back to him. That’s right. He was in the pod, that quintessence was pumped into him, and then… _and then_ …

Yet the want had felt too real for his comfort. Almost as real as the bed he was in, and as the room the bed was in. It all looked grey, dull, in his unfocused eyes. The walls were dark with a single, almost blindingly bright purple stripe in the center. Those things, he knew they weren’t dreams. Right?

…He could only wish being here was. He could only wish this – _him_ – was just him freaking out.

He didn’t move from where he lay. He could still feel his body aching, set off by an odd cooling sensation around several points of his torso and limbs, and a heaviness in his neck. He could feel the sting on his tongue where he bit himself as he breathed. The more he thought, the more he realized the cold around his middle corresponded to where he remembered feeling the snapping in his back. Likewise, he could feel the weird sensation near the bottom of in his back as it moved back and forth like a clock. Back, forth. It slowed down when Shiro thought about it.

He decided to stop thinking about it and pretend he didn’t know what it was, letting it thump gently on the bed. Just for now. For the current sake of his sanity, at least.

He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks dampen. He didn’t want to move, anyways. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see anything, not even at his hands. What had happened was a blur – a terrible, painful blur – but he was remembering. He was remembering enough to understand what it _meant_. The strange sensation in his lower back. The throbbing in his ears. The sudden increase of feeling – no, _being_ – big and then bigger than that.

That look on Keith’s face when he saw Shiro’s eyes.

It wasn’t possible, couldn’t even be remotely right, and yet here he was.

 _I’m not…_ Deep breaths _._ He kept his air intake as level as possible despite wanting to just scream until his throat didn’t work anymore. _How can this be happening? How can I possibly be…?_

Galra.

It’s the word he didn’t want to say or think, even as it smashed into his mind repeatedly. Even as the nonsensical nature of the situation reared its ugly head. Even as he remembered what everyone had told him about the navy-blue quintessence.

 _“Elantinine and its different forms only severely affect Galra genes.”_

_Pidge was leaning in her chair as Shiro questioned her, upon returning from Allura’s reattaching his arm during their sojourn. That, and after telling Allura that not telling them anything about the mission to visit the Blade of Marmora, was hypocritical and completely against what she’d told them for months about being open and honest as a team about what was happening around them._

_Really, the entire team had been rightly annoyed about that._

_"Well, ok, that’s not entirely true, it can affect other species pretty badly, and, you know, injecting radioactive substances into anyone is kind of going to be a problem—“_

_“Ok.”_ _Shiro was listening, he was sure of that. He absolutely remembered nodding. “But what makes elantinine special when it comes to the Galra?”_

_“Well, from what I got from my samples,” Pidge frowned. “Galra have a unique susceptibility to the stuff., especially when its exposed to quintessence. Someone like Keith can either turn Galra because it suppresses the non-Galra parts, or they get sickened and die because of their Galra parts getting wrecked. When Keith turned fuzzy it was basically playing roulette, it could have gone either way. And full-blooded Galra can’t even touch this stuff outright – can’t even be near it unless they have insane amounts of protection or it’s been properly stored.”_

_“Geez.” Shiro shook his head. “No wonder the Galra Empire avoided the area for the most part. I guess some of their ilk do have scruples on some level, at least.”_

_He meant the Galra Empire. Of course he knew there were good Galra, and that wasn’t even considering that Keith had Galra heritage in him. After all, they wouldn’t have ended Zarkon’s reign if there hadn’t been any Galra who disagreed with the Empire’s beliefs, right?_

_“Yeah, and it could still affect him, because he basically had a form of acute radioactive poisoning turning him into a space alien for months. And with the stuff he finally admitted about why they left some of those extra bits in him…” Pidge turned back and began to smack her keyboard. “I’ll have to find a way to monitor him somehow to make sure he doesn’t get Galra cancer or…really just cancer, or his organs don’t turn into jelly from now on, as if he wasn’t being enough trouble. I can’t convince him to come back and do blood samples now that he’s not bleeding blue anymore!”_

_“I’m sure I could convince him, if it’s for his long-term health.“_

_“Haaaa, good luck.”_

Galra had unique susceptibility. That was what he knew. Humans did not. Humans like him should have died. And everyone else who had been in the room handling the quintessence…

_I'm not a Galra._

Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths.

_My name is Takashi Shirogane, and Takashi Shirogane is not a Galra._

Shiro’s mind quietly went back to the situation, after a lomg moment. 

 _…Haggar isn’t a Galra._  That horrible witch’s tears of unexpected joy shimmered back into view within his mind. He could think of other ways to make her cry, as his jaw tightened. No, _no,_ focus on what was important, figuring this out and escaping with everyone. _It’s…gah. It’s possible she isn’t affected by elantinine because of her species. But then…there are those strange figures. They had to be Galra, right? Maybe they had biohazard protection of some kind, under their cloaks, but that still doesn’t explain what they we—_

“…on’t do it.”

Shiro’s ears suddenly twitched. Sound. Sound? A female’s voice. Galra female? It sounded Galra. He didn’t know who or what it was otherwise. It sounded a bit far away, and behind at least one closed door, yet was clear as a bell. More proof that what actually happened to him wasn’t death, or a dream. 

He focused his suddenly-enhanced hearing on the voice as he realized they’d started speaking again.

“I can’t. I just…” The female’s tone became halted. “I can’t forget what he did. What if he sees me and attacks me? Like what happened when—?”

An enemy? Maybe. If he had attacked her before-

“He won’t.” Wh— _Hunk_? Could that be…yes, it _was_ him. He was ok, or at least sounded like he was all right. “You remember what I told you about him, right? He was just scared back then.  And anyways, he still might not be awake yet. He hasn’t been every time I’ve gone in.”

“…Even so.” The female still sounded reluctant. “What if he _is_ awake? What if he doesn’t let me change his pads? What if he strikes me? I can’t fight him back! I’m not allowed to!”

Pads. His pads? Shiro’s flesh hand went to where the cooling sensation came from. He pressed, feeling something beneath his clothes. Feeling long, sharp claws press against his skin even from beneath the pads, from beyond the ends of his fingers. He instantly jerked it back, as if _that_ would delay the inevitable reality of his situation.

“That’s why I’ll be right with you when you go in.” Hunk’s tone was reassuring. “He knows me! He’ll know you’re cool when he sees me. And worst-case scenario, I’ll do the cat grab.”

“…The what?”

“You know, the…neck thing?” There was a silence. Was Hunk trying to demonstrate it? “You, that…thing! The immobilizing. Thing.”

“…But then you’d get in trouble for fighting back because _you’re_ not allowed to, either.”

“Hey, give me some credit. I’m a filthy heathen fake Paladin. Fighting back and breaking copious amounts of rules is what I do, right?” Shiro could almost imagine Hunk awkwardly grinning as he spoke. Could he be? Was his hearing _that_ good to discern facial expressions now? “Like I said, I’ll be right behind you if there’s a problem.”

“…You’d better be.” The voice came closer. “Or you’re going to have to explain to the twins why I’m dead.”

“Oh…” Hunk’s voice stammered as he, too, got closer. “Yeah, no, I…I think it’ll be fine!”

_Twins?_

Shiro let out a groan as he slowly rolled over onto his back – the thumping lower back appendage swishing involuntarily to the side as he did so – and sat up. His back hurt. His head hurt. His limbs hurt. His everything hurt, or at the very least ached profusely. His insides felt like they were still moving around and shifting, and there was an odd fullness in his chest that wasn’t there beforehand. The heaviness in and around his neck pulled downwards, and he realized he was wearing a heavy collar of some kind. His eyesight was grey – lots of grey. Honestly, most of the room was just different shades of grey with purple stripes.

Said room was also very much not what Shiro was expecting to wake up to. It wasn’t some prisoner’s cell, dark and dank and stuffy with nary a light. It was nothing like the hard capsules Keith had described living in, with barely-comfortable slabs for bedding. Indeed, his bed was giant, and the bedding was soft and inviting, almost conforming to his comfort level automatically. The room was large, with hand-weaved, preciously-lined tapestries on most of the walls of stylized Galra figures and creatures doing various battles and other epic events, or at least they were intended to look epic. The walls that didn’t have tapestries were instead giant windows, revealing an almost panoramic view of the stars and space beyond. A gentle chandelier of quintessence pulsed light at a perfectly pleasing level.

Whatever he was wearing also didn’t feel like the suit he was so used to having underneath the clothing Keith had given him when he’d returned to Earth, either. It was lighter in color, for one. A deep blue, in fact, swirled with purple, both which seemed to change direction and pattern with movement and light. Aside from the heavy collar – even if he couldn’t see it, he sure could feel it – and the pads, the sensation on his body was softer and warmer and surprisingly pleasant, like silk. No, not like silk. Like…like…

 _Vicuña_.

His eyes widened. Of course. It suddenly came to him, played out in front of him. A vivid flash of memory long buried, long thought lost, suddenly came back to him at the word.

He and the Holts had worn a thermal layer of that stuff on their mission to Kerberos, each tailor-made for them by the Garrison’s scientists for optimal, long-term usage in space. It had been incredibly comfortable, and incredibly warm for the cold nights, they’d inevitably had as they drew further and further from the sun. He even remembered Matt wearing it under his shorts and shirt that he’d brought with him on several days, while reviewing probe data. And Samuel, joking during one of their radio hails back to Earth, that it was the most expensive underwear he’d ever owned – and the best. Shiro had laughed at the sentiment, but absolutely agreed.

It was all taken away when they were captured, probably destroyed, and they were all forced to change into the garb of prisoners. Cheese and _quiznak_ crackers. Of all the lost memories to finally come back to him after all this time, it was memory of the space underwear. And of all the things to _bring_ the memory back—

“All right, I—“

His revelation. Silly as it was, was interrupted by a strangled gasp, and the sound of metal clattering on metal. Instantly, his hackles were up, his tail was lashing, and he was stumbling out of the bed, hand slamming against the wall to keep himself balanced. Thoughts of his underwear could come later.

A small, shaking, hairless female Galra – clad in prisoner’s garb, even with a similar purple over shirt as he’d once had, a glowing metal collar around her neck - was at the edge of his bed, crumpled down to her knees, a fist over chest.

“…can’t be.” She didn’t look at him, as if she didn’t dare. Her mumbles, in Shiro’s new ears, sounded frightened. Outright terrified, beneath her shorn fur and hair. “Can’t be, oh god. Oh god. This isn’t right…you can’t be…this…”

“H-hey! Are you ok…?” That was when Hunk hopped in the room – also wearing a prisoner’s suit and purple over shirt, much to Shiro’s sudden irritation - and bent down to the Galra’s level, gently shaking her shoulder. When she didn’t respond, he turned to see Shiro, his face lighting up. “Shiro! You’re awake!”

“…Yeah.”

That voice. It was too deep to be his, too like a Galra, but it sure came out of his mouth. He swallowed, hard. He was not going to enjoy finding out what else had changed about himself. At least Hunk didn’t seem too shocked about it. On the contrary, he stood up and walk towards him—

And gave him a very gentle hug. It was a nice gesture, but it was also, at the same time, an incredibly horrifying one, as Shiro realized he practically towered above Hunk now by at nearly two feet. Hunk hugging him – Hunk, who was almost as tall as Shiro had been - was now more akin to _Pidge_ hugging him. And with whatever strength he no doubt possessed, he could easily pick Hunk up, right at that moment, and squeeze the life out of him. Take his neck with his flesh hand, and like a toothpick—

_No._

He let his breath out, realizing Hunk had something metal around his neck as he was pressed against Shiro’s stomach. A collar. Maybe even similar to the one Shiro felt around his own neck, and the one around the female Galra’s neck. His left hand – flesh, a purplish-gray, clawed with long, dark, curved bones, _monstrous_ in all ways – firmly took the other’s shoulder, before moving to yank the collar off.

“—W-woah, hold up there.” The hug was broken, as one of Hunk’s hands went to clasp the claws. “Bad idea. These things are wired to explode if we try to take them off. Yours, too. Haggar made sure to let us know about it when she put them on.”

The annoyed growl left Shiro’s throat before he even realized it. He winced, at the worry flickering on Hunk’s expression. Cleared his throat.

“…You sure?”

“Yeah,” Hunk sighed. “It’s some kind of psychic inhibitor, too. I can’t connect to Yellow even though I know she’s right here on the ship. Trying to basically gives you brain freeze from ice cream when you try.”

Shiro stared at Hunk for a moment, before turning away. Black. If the collar on his own neck really like that, them—oh, there it was. Shiro could feel his eye twitch, and then close as the wave of _too much vanilla and chocolate swirl_ washed over him.

“Place your tongue on the roof of your mouth.” Hunk instantly seemed to realize what was happening. “It’ll help.”

“Hnn.” Shiro let out a huff, but started rubbing his tongue around the inside of his mouth. As promised, the sensation did subside. “I’d have thought it would hurt worse.”

“She programmed it based on me.” There was a small, conspiratorial smile on Hunk’s face at this. “When I woke up, I was the only one she had left in her lab, so she tried picking my brain for the most painful sensation to inflict on all our minds when we tried to reach our Lions.”

“She _what_?!”

“I mean, I’m ok! Really!” Shiro nevertheless felt the ugly sensation of wanting to stomp on the witch’s face repeatedly ripple through him. “It…did kind of hurt when she and the other creepy Druids went in, and…opened me up like a…it wasn’t really cool at all. I think she might have laughed at some of my memories? Or…someone laughed? I think some of my memories got taken out and looked at. It’s a bit hazy what exactly happened.”

Hunk still smiled, nevertheless.  To reassure him? He wasn’t reassured at all. Not when Hunk’s mind was ripped open. Not when this horror done to Hunk hadn’t been avenged.

“But—I did realize what she was looking for, so I managed to convince her that brain freeze is really bad and super painful for Paladins. So that’s what got programmed in.”

“…Hunk…”

“I’ll be fine.” Hunk squeezed Shiro’s disgusting flesh hand again. “I’ve been way more worried about everyone else, and about you. You were still going through changes while you were out. Even when we were all transferred you were out cold.”

“Transferred?”

“…Off of the witch’s battleship.” Behind Hunk, the female Galra finally, slowly, stood up, metal boxes in her hands. There were faint tear tracks under her eyes as she moved forward. Her voice was flat, controlled, and she kept her face down.  “And onto this one. Hunk. Not much time left. We need to change his pads.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Hunk scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “Sorry, Shiro, but, um…you able to take your clothes off this time?”

“I—“

Shiro hesitated. On the one hand, changing his bandages sounded like a good idea. His body was still sore, and his back especially ached. On the other hand, changing meant having to finally look at himself. Look at what he’d become. He wasn’t ready. He was never going to be ready.

On the _other_ other hand, though, Hunk seemed completely at ease with Shiro. Way too at ease for someone who had just walked in and saw his leader as a Galra for the first time. That, and his conversation with the Galra, seemed to indicate that it wasn’t the first time the other had been in his room, tending his wounds.

“All right.” He slowly, carefully began to undress himself. “Just be careful.”

Likely forced to do this humiliating job, if Hunk and this Galra’s clothing were any giveaway. What of Lance, and Pidge? What of Keith? Were they being prisoners, as well, forced into menial tasks by Haggar? Forced to wear the same type of clothing Shiro had first found himself in upon being captured all those months ago? It seemed likely that was the best-case scenario.

It was also a scenario made absolutely no sense, Shiro realized as he felt the pads being deftly stripped from around his torso, and replaced with much cooler, much more soothing bands. His tail (he couldn't believe he had _a tail_ ) thumped in approval, and he could feel it as his tail smacked Hunk and the Galra female once or twice.

“Ooof.” Hunk coughed. “Glad you appreciate it, dude, but that was my face you just hit.”

“…Oh. Uh, sorry, Hunk.”

No, not no sense – _less_ than no sense. There was no way any of the Paladins should have been left alive. If the Lions were all in Haggar’s grasp, if the Paladins were her mercy, the war was over. They were done. The Galra Empire had – despite the battle with Zarkon and the liberation of planets – clearly won. Why keep _any_ of them alive and be forced to collar them? Why keep _him_ alive, being the Paladin who unseated Zarkon from the Black Lion?

…Why was he being treated so well in comparison to his friends? Was it because Haggar had turned him successfully? But if that was the case, _how_ did she do it?

Maybe it didn’t matter, as he finally caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the windows showing space beyond. He was… _terrifying_. Huge and – despite the energy his body had to have used to change - muscular, like any normal Galra was.

Softly glowing yellow eyes, with visible dark grey irises, were staring back at him, from a body far more gray than purple, the outline of sharp lip flaps jutting out from his upper lips, concealing the frightening mandibles within. Near-black scales flecked his jaw and chin, covered his nose save for where his scar still slashed through it. Scales and fur comprised his eyebrows. His hair had grown out a bit, still had that white lock of hair, but in his undercut, he could see more scales on his scalp. His hair on the top practically mingling with scales. The back of his neck, covered in scales that no doubt went down his back as well.  All the way down to that long, long tail, which shook slightly as he continued to stare. He had some scales on his chest, along with a layer of fur that, in the light, did shimmer a faint hue of a grey-like purple.

Fur and scales. Lots and lots of scales. And ears, more like Kolivan’s than Keith’s. Rounder, to the sides, but still long.

…Were Galra normally this scaly? If they were, why hadn’t he noticed before?

He stared down at his hands again, realizing another change that he hadn’t even stopped to think about. His Galra arm was also large, beefy, and tapered off with very long, sharp black claws of metal-hard thickness. That he hadn’t even realized it had changed with him made him worry that the arm felt just a little too natural on his right side. More natural than before, certainly.

_No. No. No, this isn’t me. My name is Takashi Shirogane. I’m not a Galra. I’m not._

He didn’t even realize he was hyperventilating until he felt Hunk’s hand on his shoulder.

“…How…how long was I out?” He finally rasped.

“Fi—"

“Three—”

“—Er.” Hunk chuckled nervously. "Barely a week. Movement. Whatever the Galra term might be for it, or roundabouts!"

"...A little less than a hafta."

Barely a week. Either the Druids had managed to somehow concoct a new Galra arm for him that was just like his old one – only bigger and clearly more Galra-like - in record time, or this was still the arm he’d always had, having somehow transformed right alongside him. If he could somehow turn into a Galra even though he had no Galra heritage, then anything was probably possible at that point.

Shiro turned to face the two. Hunk blinked back at him. The Galra still refused to look him directly in the face.

“Awhile, in other words.” Hunk leaned over to finish the patching job. “Long enough that we’re pretty clear across the galaxy at this point from the Quilpag system.”

“…The Castle?”

“No clue. Allura and Coran aren’t here, though, so I’m guessing they didn’t catch the Castle.” The pad was tightly fastened. “Just us, the creepy white cloaked guys, Haggar, the ship’s crew, and whoever’s in charge of this ship.” Then, with a thumb towards the Galra. “Oh, and her!”

Shiro looked over at her. Still she didn’t look him in the eye once she finished her last pad.

“…You’re not as crazy as I thought you’d be,” she mumbled. “Not like last time.”

_Last time?_

“Um.” Shiro frowned, looking over at Hunk. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She abruptly stood up, turning to leave. “I should probably go.”

“Huh?” Hunk blinked. “Are you sure?”

“…Hunk.” She started towards the door. “I’ll meet you back on the prisoner’s deck, and if I get caught I’ll tell the guards you’re still working on—”

“Wait a second! What do you mean by…” Shiro’s eyes widened slightly, his hackles up. She couldn’t say that without explaining, could she? Why would she say that? Why was she now ignoring him— “ _Hey!_ ”

At Shiro’s last, raised and sharpened word, the Galra instantly stopped. The time it took for her to react to him speaking was almost unnerving, almost as unnerving as how angry he felt at the fact she hadn’t responded at first. Not just annoyed, which was what he normally was when his team didn’t respond to him – he could feel his cheeks heat up from his sudden rise of wanting to make her _listen_ to him no matter _what_. It was almost an instinctual reaction. It threatened to notch up significantly if it wasn’t satisfied. He’d actually begun standing to grab her, before he realized what he was doing.

And, she still didn’t turn to face him. Hunk, meanwhile, was watching him and the Galra, his expression unreadable. What was _he_ thinking?

“…Hey.” He was quieter, pulling back. Forcing himself to pull back. Why was he so _angry_ at her for something so ridiculously petty? “I…Listen. You don’t have to answer me. But I don’t understand. You keep talking like you know me. And you obviously have…strong feelings about me. Just…I need to know. Have we met before?”

Silence. The Galra’s head, however, quietly nods after a few moments.

“…All right.” Shiro felt his stomach churn. He had the feeling their prior meeting was anything but cordial. “I guess…that makes sense—“

“I was on the _İrem_ when you were there.”

The churning immediately became stronger.

“I know who you are because you shot at my friends.” She turned her head back around, steadfastly refusing to look him directly, even as her eyes flash. Her voice shook, just slightly. “You _injured_ my _family_. And now, I have to _serve_ you like you’re Holy Zarkon’s gift to us and if anyone else overheard me saying this about you I’d be _shot_ and…?”

He felt his hands clutch at the sheets beneath him. Oh, he remembered. He remembered how they were just Galra to him. Savage, heartless, uncaring. His captors, he was certain. They were all alike. He would defend himself from them no matter what.

Keith had set him straight on that. _The warm blood splattering his face as he reveled—_

No, that wasn’t him. That wasn’t what _happened_. His name was Takashi Shirogane and he wasn't supposed to be a Galra and that _wasn’t what happened_! Why did he suddenly want _that_ to be what had happened?

Why was nothing making any sense!?

“…I’m just a prisoner now. Like him.” The Galra motioned to Hunk. “Like all the Paladins and all of the commander’s playthings. All except for _you_. How do you _think_ I feel about that, _Shiro?_ ”

“…Hey.” Finally, Hunk reacted; he looked down at the floor. “I get why you’re mad at him but…this…it’s not his fault. You and I both know this isn’t his fault.”

“I don’t _care_ , I—!” The shaking tone as her voice raised was undeniable. She was starting to cry as she grabbed her ears. “I… _I hate_ …I want to _hate_ _him_ , Hunk! _For everything_! Everything he _did_ , I…I want to…take a gun and shoot him in his kneecaps! I…I If she can break one of these windows and suck him out into space so he chokes! I could _end it right now_!!”

Shiro’s blood froze at that, and he was instantly on his feet. If she did anything, he knew he’d have to stop her, even if it was just for Hunk’s sake. She was definitely working herself up to a fury and it couldn’t – wouldn’t - end well.

“W-wait a sec!” Hunk was looking right back at the Galra, hands up. “If you did that, you’d die too!”

“I don’t _care_ if I die! All right?!” She started screaming. “We might as _well_ be! It’s victory or death, isn’t it? _Vrespit sa, right_?! That’s what they told the veterans, that’s…that’s what they told us on the _İrem_ even after telling us we couldn’t _say_ that. It’s what they said about Admiral Otac! Then fine, that’s what he _wants_ , isn’t it!? I’ll cut every last claw off his limbs! I…I’ll rip his throat out with my own teeth! Pull his…his _stupid long hair_ until his eyes pop out and his head comes off so I can throw it _right at_ — _NNNGRH_!!”

Her hand went from her ear, swinging right at Hunk. Hunk, however, was thankfully much faster than people would give him credit for due to his size, and Shiro appreciated that. Not to mention the female’s punch was wild, undisciplined – she was simply lashing out. He easily, firmly, caught the fist.

“Let me go—!?”

“Bakıcı.” Hunk gulped. “…Shiro doesn’t have long hair.”

He could almost see her eyes widen, before she let out a sob. Her other land covered her face, and Hunk immediately drew her in. Even being a Galra, she was small against Hunk, as she leaned into his chest, burying her head.

She did this, having still not looking at Shiro’s face at all. Because she was a prisoner. Just like Hunk, in those drab suits. And when adding her angry words, it meant all his friends were prisoners. Yet, at the same time, he wasn’t. No – the prisoners _served_ …him. Were being made to serve him while he slept in a beautiful bed inside a fine room, with fine clothing.

_Why?_

What was Haggar’s _angle_ with this? What end game was she planning with this? as she trying to drive a wedge between him and the others? Was treating him differently a means to that end? Was making him a _Galra_ a means to that end? Was…was all this also how she knew about—

He had too many questions, and he wasn’t sure this Galra was going to answer them all. There was one that stuck out in his mind, more than anything, if only because he knew she might have some answers to that question. However, he knew that even if she deigned to answer him, he wouldn’t like it, whatever it ended up being.

He already knew what happened to Admiral Otac. He had no doubt everyone in this ship had an idea of his fate.

Then, what happened to the _İrem_?

Before he had a chance to open his mouth again, there was a hard knock on the door.


	4. Kaygı

Shiro nearly jumped at the knocking that ensued, while the female Galra – it appeared her name was Bakıcı, after all – tensed up considerably and backed into a corner. Hunk, on his end, looked worriedly at the door.

“Prisoners! Time’s up!” The banging began again. “If you don’t respond, we’re coming in!”

“Uh—!” Gulping, Hunk quickly bounded to the door. “We…we’re almost done! Give us a sec! Er, a tick! Whatever you want to call it!”

“You better not be doing anything sneaky, Paladin!” The voice almost sounded annoyed at the response. “Seriously, if we come in there and we don’t like what we see…”

“I know! Trust me I know!” He turned back to Shiro. “Sorry, man. I don’t know when I’ll be back—“

Instantly, the door opened, smashing Hunk into the wall behind it. The guard rushed in, gun in hands, helmet on head obscuring their face, tensely bending and separating their knees into a position for possible grappling.

“All right, it's time for you to explain yourselves, prisoners 124-9278 and 125-46…21…?”

The guard spotted Shiro where he stood, as they spoke. Their mouth opened into a giant o, and the gun in their hands dropped to the floor as they immediately went to the floor, fist to chest, much as Bakıcı had.

“O-oh!” The sudden change from angry Galra guard to frightened, almost squeaking little thing would have been amusing, if still not so bizarre. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize you were awake, good Shiro! I know my abrupt entrance was quite disturbing to your Presence, and for that I cannot express my most sincere apologies to you for doing something so insulting and brash—”

_Its…not as disturbing as everything you just said…_

“—but I must return these prisoners back to their cells.” The guard almost seemed to tremble in his sight. “Before…before _they_ come through on their daily sweep, you understand…pre-set time limits and all!”

He didn’t understand. He really didn’t. Galra didn’t immediately drop to their feet at the sight of him like this, not unless they were enemies or in the Arena. Then again, he hadn’t been Galra before, which still made no sense. Seeing a guard snivel like this in front of him, scared and humble…

It made the bile rise to his throat in disgust despite himself.

It also gave him an idea.

“Do you mind if I go with you?”

“Huh?”

Shiro took a deep breath. He spotted Hunk stumbling from where he was hit, holding his nose.

“I said,” if they were treating him differently for…whatever reason, if this guard was really bowing to him. Perhaps he could use it to figure out just what in the thousand plutoids was going on with this sick game of Haggar’s. “I want to come with you. Accompany the prisoners to their cells. Is that all right?”

The guard let out a little gasp.

“You…me? You want to _come_ with _me_ to—“ They looked nervously from left to right – and just like Bakıcı, they didn’t look directly at his face. “Oh, I…I don’t _know_ …if anything happened to you on the way there, I wouldn’t be the only one unable to forgive me, you see…I mean, suppose the pretend Paladin and yarildi attempt to ally and hurt you? It would be my fault!”

Shiro saw Bakıcı bristle at the odd word, while Hunk stared at the guard like they had grown an extra tail the sheer ridiculousness of the scenario.

“…I’m sure we could handle it if something happened?” Shiro attempted a smile, hoping his own unease about everything didn’t show in his expression. “And if you catch any grief, I’ll tell them it was my idea. I'm sure they'll understand.”

“…Well, I…” The guard slowly stood up, still not looking at him. “Even if…even if a White Hood stops us?”

“Even if a White Hood stops us.” Shiro paused. “…Though I’m not familiar with just what that is…”

“You mean the commander hasn't…” The guard picked up their gun. “Oh yes, that’s right. You must not have been awake yet to meet him. But, that's...I'm sure that will be cleared up soon!”

They motioned towards Hunk and the female Galra with their gun barrel. As they did, Shiro noticed the suit the guard was wearing. The colors were not purple or red or black on the breastplate, or anywhere on the suit, as he’d come to expect from the soldiers of the Galra Empire. Indeed, the suit’s lapels and insignia shapes were barely glowing, but he could make out the deep blue, as vividly as he could purple, now, including on their holsters. The red…the orange? The red-orange?...was not as easy to see, but they, too were present on the guard’s suit, on the shoulders and arms, on the bottom of the breastplate, on stripes dotting the lighter grey suit beneath the breastplate.

Seeing the suit felt familiar in a manner that Shiro couldn’t pinpoint. He knew he’d never seen it before. Not even a hint of recognition. Maybe he’d heard of a suit such as this, though precisely who would have worn something like it slipped his mind. Regardless, he filed it in the back of his mind to think about later. Whoever this commander was, it was clear they had some power in the Empire. Power enough to have their own ship, have their own troops with their own suits of armor, even to have Haggar on their side, somehow.

_Zarkon’s proxy. That had been what the Blade had said…_

Then Shiro noticed the shape of the gun overall. It was small than the normal Galra gun. Leaner, like something between a handgun and a rifle.

His breath halted as he realized what it was, and where he’d seen it before.

_Keith screamed as he fell to the floor, hole in his leg._

“All right, now both of you! OUT!” The Heretic waved menacingly towards the prisoners, bringing Shiro back to the present. “And, uh, no talking to one another _or_ to Shiro!”

Bakıcı simply slunk out without any resistance at the orders, while Hunk looked at Shiro with a shrug before winking at him, and quickly picking up pace behind her, the guard following right behind. At least Hunk had an understanding what he was doing. Get out of the room and figure out what was happening. Even if he couldn’t talk to him directly with one of those things pointed at his back.

It was too big of a risk, to have that gun shoot a hole right through him.

He couldn’t contain his shudder at the thought – and the related memories it brought of legs and dreams and blood - as he began to walk.

“Are you cold, Shiro?”

“Huh?” Right, the guard. He spoke loud enough so that the two in front of them could hear him. “No. I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” The group entered a hallway, dark grey with a single horizontal purple stripe down the middle of the floor, flanked by two smaller, zigzag stripes.  “The commander will be glad to know you’re awake, by the way, Shiro. He’s been very anxious about your recovery since the Druids brought you aboard the _Kan Tarlası_.”

 _Kan Tarlası_. A ship name. _This_ ship’s name. It meant nothing to Shiro, not right now, but it was a start. He could only assume it was the ship of someone important within the Galra Empire. Especially if they were working with the Druids, enough so that Haggar was fine with putting all of Voltron together on the ship.

“He’s worried about me?”

“Yes, absolutely!” There was a door at the end of the hallway, which the guard quickly opened with the press of a palm. “Ever since the news about your capture in the Quilpag. He was most pleased, and—“

The guard instantly stopped talking, as the door slid apart to reveal the white mask of one of those strange, Druid-like figures, all cloaked in white, staring right at them. It was enough to cause Hunk to let out a squeak of surprise.

“…Oh dear.” The figure’s mask betrayed nothing as it jerkily cocked its head to the side, its focus clearly on the guard. So that was what he meant by White Hoods. They’d come on the ship with Shiro. And somehow they’d only gotten more terrifying with time, for even the guard sounded hesitant. “Forgive me, he wished to come alongside us and I wouldn’t _dare_ countermand Shiro! You understand, yes? We need to get going.”

The figure didn’t respond, nor did it move, instead cocking its head towards Shiro. The glow of the mask markings, aimed right at his newly-Galra eyes, threatened to give him a headache. It was _annoying_ to look at.

“…Please?”

That came from Hunk, which earned him a sudden, jerky, almost robotic sweep of the head, until the mask and its lights were fixed right on Hunk’s face, mere inches from his increasingly swollen and bruised nose. The lights themselves seemed suddenly harsh, displeased.

The creature lifted a hand up—

“Hey, that’s _enough_!”

Before he even realized it, Shiro’s own hand had shot out to grab the wrist of the white-hooded figure. Before his hand was even halfway there, the creature had suddenly jerked backwards, skittering off, face still glaring towards Hunk as it disappeared down the hallway and then around a corner.

“…Idiot!” The guard bumped Hunk in the shoulder with the gun. “You are an unequivocal idiot, 125-4621! You _never_ speak to a White Hood like that! You could have gotten all of our necks snapped for your insolence and there wouldn't have been anything the commander could have done about it!”

“Ow!” Hunk rubbed his shoulder, looking up at Shiro. “Just trying to help…”

“Its ok, Hunk.”

“No, no, _no_ , Shiro!” The guard pushed Hunk – and the still silent Bakıcı – forward. “It’s not ok! White Hoods are able to act without retribution or cause against nearly _any_ citizen of the Galra Empire! Just…just _looking_ at them wrong, taking about them wrong, could get any of us killed!”

A pause.

“E-except you, Shiro! They wouldn’t kill _you_.” The guard was clearly trying to reassure him. It wasn’t working. “They know better. They would _never_ hurt _you_.”

A ship where the prisoners were expected to bow and scrape to him, where guards obeyed him, and where strange white-hooded Druid-like figures scampered off the moment he acted against them. Where everybody apparently knew his name, as opposed to calling him “Champion” or “Paladin”. Almost seemed to defer to the name instantly.

It prompted the question that wasn’t going away.

“Why?”

The guard looked at him, blinking.

"Why what?"

"Why wouldn't they hurt me?"

"...Oh!" The guard nodded. “Easy. Because you’re Shiro.”

As if that answered every question Shiro had, the guard proceeded to continue to poke and prod the prisoners down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

This was a Galra ship, through and through. Dark greys and purples, all in sleek, simple design, with guards almost every which way. Every time he passed one, two, a group, they instantly dropped to their knees, his name on their lips. No one looked at his face. A few made remarks about the ‘fake Paladins’ as he passed. Not him, though. No one called him a fake Paladin. He was treated with complete respect.

At one point, someone tried to trip Hunk; thankfully, Hunk saw the foot and was able to hop over it without much of a problem, much to the passerby’s annoyance. And yet Hunk was treated like a king compared to Bakıcı as they made their way to the prisoner’s hold; as they got off the elevator, someone, in their generosity, managed to land a gob of spit in her ear, with almost perfect accuracy.

Shiro could feel his eyes flash as he turned to find the culprit, even as the Galra simply dug it out with her claws, ears flicking. The guards immediately looked down, and scattered. If he doubted his desire to help, it vanished then and there. There was no way he was keeping his friends – or anyone trapped on this ship – here, just to be treated like that.

He’d watched as, just like he’d once been, Hunk and Bakıcı were both led to small, dark, dank cells on what could only be described as the coldest deck of the ship. Though Hunk still smiled at him, it hardly felt reassuring. If anything, seeing him get locked up made him angry.

No-it made him afraid. More than that. Watching it happen gave him a sense of déjà vécu - that this wasn't the first time he'd seen this. That he'd stood at this exact ground once before, once times a thousand times, watching that same smile as the cell door slid closed, cutting him off from his friend. The fear that it wouldn't be the last, even though for the life of him he couldn't understand _why_ he felt that way. 

He only knew one thing for certain. He had to get Hunk out of there. He had to get _everyone_ out of this horrible place before it destroyed them all.

His hand went up to his collar as the guard finished imputing the prisoner code to keep the cell doors hermetically sealed. He could feel the pull of his Lion. He could, even with Haggar's machinations, and he didn't care the explanation as to how it was possible, whatever it was. But trying to do anything with it – even thinking of using it - just gave him a headache.

“And… _there_ we are.” The guard turned back towards Shiro, still not looking up at him. “Shiro, what are you doing?”

“…Nothing.” He couldn’t risk getting blown up, or getting others blown up, but _man_ did the idea of talking to Black sound wonderful at the moment. “Look, guard…person…I didn’t catch your name.”

“Tüylü.” The guard nodded. “Ensign Tüylü.”

“…Is it possible to give the prisoners better accommodations?”

“Why?”

“…I…” Shiro swallowed slowly. “Seeing them in there…it’s not right.”

The guard tilted their head at this.

“What do you mean?” They looked at the cells, then back to Shiro. “They’re prisoners. Why wouldn’t they be in their proper cells?”

Shiro opened his mouth to respond, but found his voice had lost its sound for the moment. He had to give a reason, a truthful reason, and he knew he couldn’t just say ‘I want to find a way to help them escape from this ridiculous situation’.

“…They’re…my friends. Surely you understand?”

“...Ooooooh.” Tüylü paused, then almost lit up in realization. “Ooooooh, right! That’s right, Shiro, the false Paladins. You consider them friends. I…well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with suggesting it to the commander himself, though I don’t know if he’ll agree. Especially if it’s the traitors you want to inquire about.”

“Traitors?”

“…Prisoners 124-9278 and 125-4619.” The guard stiffened as they motioned for Shiro to follow. “The _yarıldı_ from the renegade ship _İrem_.”

“…The renegade…” The first number. “Then Bakıcı—“

Shiro didn’t finish his sentence, for his words turned into a shout as, all of a sudden, another white-hooded figure stood in front of him, staring right at him. Or was it the same from before? He couldn’t tell. It was the same height, the same mask markings. The same jerk, robotic movements as it leaned in towards his face. Tüylü, for their part, yelped and jumped so high that their helmet ended up askew on the side of their head as they fumbled with their weapon, revealing their long, almost walrus-like canines out of their mouth.

Shiro didn’t say anything, nor did he move. He simply stared back, hoping his eyes didn’t betray his apprehension. It was only after an eternal moment that the figure stepped aside, their cloaks whooshing as they abruptly disappeared down a hallway.

“…Mmmm, y-yes. Yes!” The Galra guard’s voice was still up an octave as they readjusted their helmet. “Those two. Shipmates from the _İrem_. You must remember them, right, Shiro?”

“Remember them?” He was not liking where any of this was going. “How do you mean?”

“When their leader helped your renegade Paladin friends, of course.” He could almost sense the blinking going on beneath the helmet. “We know all about it, now. How the admiral's end of the ‘Inclusivity Initiative’ was just a cover to smuggle intelligence and supplies to Illceler-based rebels. That’s how you met them, from what we found out.”

Shiro stopped dead in his tracks.

“No. That’s not…” Was it? No, it couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound right. Which seemed to be a common theme of everything that had happened so far, to be fair, but this? “That’s not what happened. I wasn’t even awake for—”

“Ah,” The guard shook their head. “It’s ok, Shiro. I understand, it’s a sore spot. You couldn’t have known you were helping traitors! None of us knew Otac was plotting against the Empire to overthrow Holy Zarkon Himself the whole time!”

 _That_ wasn’t sounding right, either.

Aside from the brief meeting, and the transmission from the _İrem_ when the battle against the Helvicta had ended, Shiro knew only what Keith told him of Admiral Otac. It admittedly wasn’t much – it was mostly second-hand. Speaking only a little about the Admiral’s son. How he’d been part of a military family. How Otac had lost his eye. How protecting that son was the whole reason the _İrem_ existed. An otherwise honorable figure who was like a father to the rest of the crew.

Perhaps Otac harbored resentment towards Zarkon when it came to what happened with his son, and Shiro wouldn’t have blamed him, if he’d been in Otac’s place. But rebelling? Overthrowing the Empire? Overthrowing _Zarkon_? Nothing Keith spoke of about him, nothing Shiro saw in Otac, remotely suggested that he intended to go full Blade of Marmora on the very thing he served after they cut off communication that fateful day of battle. Or do anything remotely rebellious, aside from going dark on the radio. Not if his crew, or his son, would be put in unnecessary danger

Adding that to the clearly untrue story the ensign was happily spouting off, it was just…too neat. Too convenient.

All too easy, because Otac would never be able to clear his name or even attempt to protest his innocence. Not anymore.

“It’s too bad, too. They said he was an honorable guy, but there’s nothing honorable about betraying the Empire.” The guard shrugged. “Have to admit, though, for a traitor, he was at least decent enough to come around and surrender himself! Not like the _rest_ of his crew.”

A ripple went through Shiro’s belly as he heard Tüylü’s dismissive tone towards Keith’s old crew, even as his brain registered what they also had said. Not like the rest of the crew. That meant the rest of the crew didn’t surrender as he had.

“They’ll get what’s coming to them, though!”

Then the rest of the _İrem_ , if true, was—then Keith was in danger, and—

“The commander will see to tha—“

Shiro nearly jumped at the sound of creaking metal. As his head snapped, he found himself staring at his own fist buried into a new dent in the wall. Another sound came from the guard in front of him, as well; when he turned back, Tüylü was back on the floor, right on their knees, gun once more out of their hands. His breath began to quicken.

“…I.” _Breathe. This guy doesn’t know. He’s more scared of you than you are of him. Don’t let him see what you’re feeling._ “Right. I get it. They’ll…they’ll get it.”

“Ah, yeah.” The guard shakily picked up the gun and slowly stood up. “Now, ah, shall I bring you to see the commander himself?”

Shiro’s breath didn’t slow down. The rippling sensation wasn’t going away. In fact, it was getting worse.

"Shiro?”

The same horrifying, tingling, cold sensation, turning into unbearable heat in his arms and legs and tail.

“I’m…I’m fi—“

He barely managed to let out a gasp as he was suddenly on the floor, doubled over in pain. He felt liquid pool in his mouth, even as he felt himself start to slip again.

Suddenly, leaving the room was looking like a bad idea.

“ _SHIRO_!”

The sensation of someone pressing on his chest. An unrecognizable voice, screaming into his ear. Wait.

_Allura? No, she-?_

He was out even before his head hit the floor.


	5. Ziyaretçi

_He can feel her._

My name is Takashi Shirogane.

_He felt himself floating, out of his body, soft as vicuña, up into a place he’d been only a few times before. A place very few could even begin to comprehend. He certainly didn’t comprehend it, at least not entirely._

My name is Takashi Shirogane. I’m not a Galra.

_He sat, as stars floated around him, even as he felt the stars beneath him. He could see his silhouette, and look down at his hands. Still human, at least human and metal and human-shaped, respectively, just as he had been the last time he recalled being here. Not a hint of the changes that had happened to him._

_He felt himself repeat the words. Then he said it out loud._

_“My name is Takashi Shirogane.” A deep breath. “I’m not a Galra.”_

_No sign of Zarkon lurking in the distance, either. The bond was well and truly severed._

_So, then. had it all been a dream? Hunk being a prisoner, everyone knowing his name, maybe even Admiral Otac—_

**_~No.~_ **

_His head bolted up. A giant shadow stood in front of him, two giant yellow eyes the only visible characteristic._

_“Black.”_

_There was a rumble in response, and slowly, Shiro stood. It hurt to stand. There was a great weight on his lower back, one he could feel even here. There was also a weight on his neck, though when he grasped, there was nothing there but his own flesh._

_The lion’s eyes glowed just a little brighter, and an image of a sad cat flashed through him, and into his eyes. His link wasn’t like the other Paladins. Even with the depth, the near perfection of it, his bond with her still felt new, still felt like it was developing. He hadn’t been able to utilize it, to connect to Black fully enough on certain levels to allow for full conversation, because of the long time he’d been gone and separated from her._

_Six months, he remembered, as well. He still couldn’t believe it had been six months since the battle with Zarkon, when he got back to the Castle. His friends had ultimately been right to withhold that fact from him when he first returned. With Keith’s condition, with his condition, he couldn’t imagine what he would have done. How he would have reacted to the surreal differential of time that was forced on him. He’d been upset when it was finally revealed to him, but he’d also been in a state of mind to accept and understand why they didn’t._

_His time away had an effect, in any case, even if his friends had never told him and he had to figure it out on his own. He could feel it in his bond with the Black Lion. He couldn’t hear the voice of his Lion like they could. Sometimes, words formed. Sometimes, there was indeed a voice, a real, tangible voice, deep and regal and quiet and inexplicably female._

_But not always._

_“You’re here.” Shiro made to walk forward. “I knew it! I...I knew I could speak to you somehow! Where—“_

_He stopped, when the bright red x suddenly flashed in front of his face. Then, before he could speak again, three words echoed in his mind._

**_~Witch.~_ **

_His eyes widened._

_~ **Not safe.~**_

_He didn’t need any more explanation. He knew exactly what that meant._

She _was right behind him._

_“Champion.”_

_He whirled around. Haggar. Had she been there the entire time? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.  She was there now, hunched over, standing with her hood covering her face – save that awful smile – as the stars melted around them._

_“Such confusion in your mind,” she spoke, almost sang. “Such fear! I must admit. I was not anticipating that your bond would be able to overcome my contingencies so easily.”_

_Shiro felt a real snarl on his lips as the Black Lion quickly retreated from the link. Soon, the link was completely silent._

_“The very instant you came here, I sensed it.” The smirk on her face deepened. “Do you still think the Black Lion can help you?”_

_“Get out of my head.”_

_“It won’t. No one can help you.” Dangerous. Her smile was dangerous, and far too knowing. “It’s begun, and it will continue. It’s far too late for you,_ Shiro _.”_

 _That did it. Whether it was the changes in his mind, the blatant intrusion, it didn’t matter. Shiro let out a scream as he swung. Even though he hit nothing, even though he knew he would hit nothing. No matter the fact she had him so easily, and was right, it was too late for him. His fist was changing, becoming larger and sharper and_ Galra _and--_

He gasped. The feeling of being slammed down onto the ground, right back down into his body, left him in a cold sweat as his eyes bolted open wide. His heart was racing, to the point where he could feel the skin over his chest vibrate wildly as a result. His mind swam, and for a moment, he didn't know where he was. Everything was hazy, quiet, and swirling pink and purple.

“…ro?”

He didn’t respond as he sat up. It sounded like Pidge, but it might not have been. It was possible Haggar was tricking him still. Anything was possible in this utterly awful situation.

Especially since the more he woke up, and sat up, the more Shiro became aware that he had actually changed again. Not nearly as much as when this whole horrible trial started, but enough that he noticed. For one, and it was probably most obvious, his bed was smaller than he recalled it being. As if it had been switched from a king to a queen. The ceiling looked closer, the room looked just a little bit smaller.

His hands, meanwhile, where much of the pain had been before, were larger. The claws were ever sharper, the dorsals of his hands now covered with those scales even up to his fingers. He could feel his tail, heavier than before, thumping beneath him and in front of him as his eyes trailed to where it ended. It was hung over the end of the bed, and he realized it was swaying against the carpet like a pendulum.

In other words, he’d gotten even bigger. Thicker. Everything about him felt thicker, more solid. Even his hair felt thicker and heavier on his head. His clothing had shifted, his horrible Galra arm had shifted. Everything had shifted to accommodate the growth spurt.

That included the deepening feeling of _wrong_ ness, of something almost like _sick_ ness, of about what was happening to him. There was no way to hide it – the changes were clearly still happening, and he might still get larger and change further yet. He felt a flash of anger as he narrowed his eyes, thinking of Haggar.

Had she done something to him on the astral plane? She had to have. Could he not even sleep without the witch meddling with him and changing him?

Or _was_ it her? It could have just been him, and it was just part of what was going on with his body to begin with. But he didn’t know why he was still growing – or how tall he’d get. Or really why he was changing to _begin_ with.

“…Shiro?”

While Galra were definitely taller on average than humans, this felt utterly abnormal even in relation to that.

“ _Shiro_.”

There were only a few Galra who he knew had a similar, terrifying height.

“ _Shiiiiro_. Earth t—”

And one of them was—

“ **Hey**! Shiro!”

His face instantly bolted up towards the sound of the voice, eyes blazing. Who dared to interrupt his thoughts and annoy him like—

“ ** _What!_** _?_ ”

It came out, if not mad, then certainly irate, as it echoed through the room and rang in his own ears.

“ _Gah_ —!” In response, the human in the prisoner’s suit – wait _, Lance?_ -  squeaked, throwing his hands up as he stood at the foot of the bed, eyes wide. “I mean…hi?”

Shiro froze as it sunk in. He screamed at Lance. He had been screaming at Lance for no _reason_.

“…Shoot.” His claw went to his temples, feeling his cheeks grow hot. If this didn’t kill him outright who knew what was going to happen at this rate. “Lance, I…seriously, I’m sorry.”

“Uuuh, yeah,” Lance’s eyebrows narrowed as he worriedly frowned. “Hunk wasn’t kidding about the temper thing, was he?”

“I told you, you idiot.” The feeling of murder died down, replaced with shock as he also realized who else was in the room. Pidge. Had that voice been real after all? “Don’t poke the…space-Shiro while he’s still changing.”

She was sitting in a chair, also in a prisoner’s suit. Her glasses were gone, as her own eyes were narrowed in thought.

“No offense, Shiro. We just can’t call you a space cat. You don’t really look like one.”

“It sucks!” Lance sniffed. “I don’t have any frame of reference animal that I can use to tease you with! I’m trying to think of them, but…!”

“No offense taken. I’m…I'm just glad you guys are ok.” It was good to at least see Lance and Pidge were otherwise all right, as well, and at least trying to make something of the situation. He actually felt better, a little bit at least, at this. “Is Hunk ok?...wait. When did…when did you get in here?”

“ _I_ brought them in, Shiro!” Suddenly, the guard – Tüylü – popped up behind Pidge. Good vibrations were gone at the sight. “My orders were to bring these two in for your comfort. The fake Yellow Paladin is elsewhere on the ship, working under supervision.”

“My _comfort_?”

“Of course! As they are your friends and your changes are still ongoing.” The guard nodded. “So that is why they’re here. To ensure your well-being until you have fully completed your changes.”

“Yeah, and you’re not helping at all, guard person.” Lance’s eyes narrowed as he turned to no doubt glare at their captor. “You don’t even know what a cat is!”

“Exc _use_ me,” The guard haughtily brought their nose up beneath the helmet. “But Shiro is incomparable to every and all animals. Shiro is _Shiro_!”

 _Shut u—_ Shiro bit his lower lip. He was really hating this temper. _No. Don’t get angry. Don’t. This is just a stupid argument. This…this isn’t worth getting angry over._

“It’s just a joke! It’s something we just needle him with.” Lance pouted. “We know he’s Shiro, we just like comparing Galra to other animals!”

_But…Lance isn’t stupid._

“Why?” Tüylü frowned. “Why would you compare Shiro’s very Presence to that of mere _animals_?”

“I…” Lance stared. “Ok, Hunk clearly wasn’t kidding about the weird hero worship, either. Why are you guys doing this? What’s the deal? Is it because of the whole arena Champion thing, or is this some other kind of dumb trick?”

_He really isn’t._

“Wh—no, of course not!” The guard looked offended at the question. “He’s Shiro! What other reason could there be!?”

“I—yes, ok, but _why_ is him _being_ Shiro so important…”

Shiro spotted Pidge staring at him as the Lance and the Galra guard continued to argue. He knew that look on her face. She was studying him. Somehow, being under her gaze made him feel a little smaller. A little more worried. He could feel that terrible desire to lash out at her, for making him feel less than he was, churning in him.

He found himself turning away from the gaze, looking down at the beastly hands that were holding on to his sheets by the claws. They were shaking, despite his attempts to will himself to stop.

“…wait, so what exactly are you saying?”

“Well, Prisoner 125-4620, what everyone on this ship could _easily_ tell you if you cared to listen is—”

“Hey! I’m listening _now_!”

Shiro was brought back to his hands when he felt sensation press onto the scales. He nearly jerked back, as if being touched by Pidge would cause what happened to him would spread to her, twisting her into a terrible abomination, only to have it spread to the others and destroying everything good and kind about them.

This…wasn’t like what happened with Keith. Nothing at all like with Keith. It wasn’t an indictment on Keith at all, simply that Shiro was not like Keith.

Keith was a good person, who could be reckless and emotional. He went on instinct and most times his instincts yielded reward. He had been the one to charge in to rescue Shiro from the Garrison. To protect him when they’d been separated. To help him become comfortable with finally gaining his bayard from Zarkon.  Not that Lance and Pidge and Hunk hadn’t helped, or not been good or brave to sacrifice so much for Voltron. Everyone had.

With Keith, though, there was an additional need for understanding that no other team member had to contend with. He knew Keith struggled with his alien self ever since that fateful trial with the Blade of Marmora. He’d come to accept it, more or less, with the added understanding of events they knew of with his time on the _İrem_ , but there was always uncertainty. Especially, no doubt, after Shiro had nearly killed him. Shiro, who was human, and yet somehow managed to become a Galra anyways.

He watched as Pidge squeezed his hand. It was so strange getting nerve reactions from his scales, more so than having a tail.

“…Shiro.” Her voice was low, which was fine. Shiro could easily hear her. “Me and Hunk want to know. No Galra ancestry. Right?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an attempt to confirm. It was an easy enough question to answer – even if he didn’t have complete knowledge of his family tree, or have any mysterious talismans as Keith had, there was the fact that he couldn’t use his human hand to open doors beforehand.

He shook his head, still unable to face her despite his answer.

“No. None.”

“Then this can’t be right.” He could feel the younger carefully pull his hand – he allowed her – and flip it over onto its palm. “This shouldn’t have happened to you.”

_It still did._

Shiro continued to watch Pidge hold his hand. She didn’t look at his face. He hoped it was because she was still thinking, still considering, and not because of any other reason.

“…Katie. I remembered something.” Shiro drew a breath. Since they were talking, and he had recalled something from the Kerberos mission he hadn’t before, it seemed like now was the time. “Something from the Kerberos mission. It wasn’t anything big, and it’s….kind of ridiculous. but—“

“—No! ‘Because he’s Shiro’ isn’t an actual reason, what’s the real reason?”

“That _is_ the real reason!!”

“…I’ll just tell you what it was later.” Or not. Were they seriously still arguing? At least it continued to take the guard’s attention off him and Pidge. “Keith. I haven’t seen him.”

“…Neither have we. He’s not in the cells with us.” Pidge’s voice became a whisper. “None of us have seen him.”

Shiro felt his tail shudder at the answer, and his own breath hitched.

“Not since…before they brought us on board. The commander apparently took him.”

“The commander?" Shiro's sense of dread only increased. "Have you seen _them_ yet?”

“No.”

“Well, fine!” Shiro’s attention snapped away from Pidge, and he turned back to see Tüylü and Lance with their backs to one another, arms crossed and noses up turned. “Be that way if you’re just going to answer that way!”

“Fine!” The ensign sniffed. “I will because it’s true!”

“Fine!”

“FINE!!”

“ _FINE!!_ ”

Ok, now it was getting annoying. Shiro opened his mouth to tell them both to zip. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pidge looking as well. He wanted to not yell at them, even though the desire to just snip at them was strong. He had to stay calm, for their sakes, and do this the right way—

—and whatever recriminations he had in his mouth instantly died out when he actually _saw_ the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Lance on the left, Tüylü behind them, as they had been a moment before.

“See if I care that you don’t acknowledge the glory of Shiro!”

“Oh yeah? You sure do seem to care what I think!”

And a White Hood, standing right behind them, their silhouette towering over the two.

“Like I care what a false Paladin thinks!”

“…Guys…” There was his voice. Next to him he could practically hear the sweat forming on Pidge’s brow. “Lance…”

“ _False_ Paladin?!” Lance’s hands clenched into fists, even as the arms were still folded. “Oh yeah, you wanna make a bet on that?? Why don’t you take the collar off and I’ll show you how fake I am!”

“Oh, plea—“

“ ** _LANCE!_** ”

Shiro’s voice sharpened, escalated, and instantly, the two froze. That…Shiro just…no. No, they stopped, that was the important part.

“…Haha, Shiro yelled at y-“

“ _You too_ , ensign.” If there was one advantage to this whole, horrible situation, he at least sounded scary enough to shut people up when he needed to speak. “There’s a White Hood behind you.”

“A—“

The two turned to see the figure, who simply tilted its head in response. The noise coming from Lance was a good two octaves higher than his normal range, and the sound that came from Tüylü was enough to cause Shiro to wince.

“OHGOD _OHGOD_!!” Lance was immediately on the bed, knees bent, having done a back flip (which was a first for Lance) right over Shiro’s shaking tail. “ ** _HOW DID IT GET IN!?_** ”

“…Through the door.”

That was the figure talking. A strange, genderless, mechanical voice, motioning to the clearly _closed_ door, which was more than enough to cause both Lance and Tüylü to screech unholy havoc on Shiro’s eardrums again. With an angry growl, Shiro smashed his hands over his ears.

“ _GHHK_!”

“Would you two _stop_!?” Pidge threw her arms up onto her ears. “You’re both being loud idiots!”

“…It talks…” Tüylü, meanwhile, whimpered as they tried to back away. “They…the White Hoods can taauuunnngh—!?“

With almost unholy speed, the hooded figure seemed to flash from their spot by the windows, to right next to Tüylü. They then casually grabbed the ensign’s scruff and smacked them into the wall, before anyone else could react. The guard went limp in their hand, and promptly collapsed to the floor – still alive, but very much unconscious.

“Oh geez…” Lance backed up towards Shiro as the masked figure’s head jerked up to face them. “Oh geez, Shiro, I…I don’t know what to do to stop _that_.”

“Not screaming like a five-year-old is a good start.”

“I can’t help it! These things give me the creeps, Pidge!”

“Ok, that does it.”

Shiro had had enough. He sat up straight, and firmly brought his massive hands in front of Lance and Pidge’s chests, and with as much gentleness as he could muster, he pushed them back to the head of the bed. Both still, nevertheless, let out sharp yells as their heads smacked.

He really didn’t know his own strength in this body, did he? He’d barely touched them, and yet-

“…Leave them alone.” The last White Hood had retreated when he’d spoken – no, when he’d ordered them to back off. Perhaps this one would do the same. “I don’t care whether you’re a White Hood or whatever. If you touch either of them you’ll regret it.”

He kept his hands up in front of the two. Set his face into a stare. He wanted to make it clear he meant what he said. Maybe they would leave.

Instead, they simply started chuckling.

“Oh, dear Shiro. You needn’t worry. I’m not here to hurt your precious Paladins.”

Shiro didn’t budge. He knew better. He at least hoped he did.

“Besides…you don’t need to call me that ridiculous nickname.” Delicate claws slowly went up to their mask and hood. “White Hoods are what the _peasants_ call us.”

There was a _hssss_ , as the sound of metal detaching from metal echoed through the room. One hand easily caught the mask as it fell from the Galra’s face; the other swept back the hood like one swept back a curtain of gossamer.

“Our true title…is _Scholaris_.”

Shiro stared as the Galra looked up at him. It was a female, there was no doubt. Her hair was coiffed, split down the middle and wrapped in seven different braids, the largest which was woven in with a white-and-gold band around her forehead. The back of her head – and her ears - were still covered by a braided blue headdress band, the ends of which landed on her shoulders like dreadlocks and tapered to a gold color. The back of the headdress was a white, translucent sheet which connected to her long, white cloak.

It almost reminded Shiro of a statue in a museum, if the statue was that of a female Galra, smile sharp, eyes bright. She seemed far too happy to see-

Wait.

_Scholaris._

He knew the name. He’d heard it before, and looking at his fellow Paladins’ faces, he can see their eyes widening at the mention of the term. Watched the lump form in Lance’s throat.

“Ah, Shiro. To look upon you, Shiro…to see you like this…to _know_ now…”

Those eyes were a little too bright, too exhilarating and exalting, as the figure instantly snapped down onto one knee, claws to chest, a very pleased smile on her face. Her actions only made him more uneasy, and so Shiro still didn’t budge.

“You cannot imagine the _joy_ it brings me, to be in your Presence again after everything that has happened!”

“Again?” Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah.” From behind his arm, he could feel Lance tense up. “Who the heck are you? Are you really a…a member of the _Scholares_? That’s a pretty hefty claim if what we’ve heard is true.”

Looking up at Lance, head tilted abruptly to the side like a bird, Shiro could see a sharpness in her teeth as she regarded him.

“Oh, Blue Paladin.” Her tone was like velvet covering brass knuckles when speaking to Lance. “Surely you must know that everything dear Kılıç told you about us – about _me_ \- is very true.”

Shiro was instantly standing at those words, panic forming bile in his throat. The Galra, meanwhile, looked back at him, eyes innocent and wide. Confused? No. It couldn’t be confusion. It was surprising she was looking him in the face, honestly.

That she _dared_ to look at his face, after saying that.

“Oh? Perhaps you prefer that I call him _Keith_ , dear Shiro?”

“Who are you.” Shiro had a very good, very terrible idea who this was. But it was one thing to have an idea. Another entirely to confirm. He bared his teeth. “And where’s Keith? Tell me _now_ , or get out of my room!”

The female didn’t move from her spot, simply folding her hands as she looked back down at the floor. His demand, it seemed, as always, had the desired effect.  His voice just automatically disarmed anything else she may have had to say, either to him, or to Lance.

It was surprisingly efficient and easy – and _wrong_ , and worrisome the same time. Especially since he was feeling himself getting used to doing it even in such a short amount of time.

“…Of course. My presumptuousness preceded protocol.” The female sighed. “You must forgive me, dear Shiro. I meant no offense. Of course, you would not remember me; I wasn’t there when you finally woke up.”

“Woke up where? Here?”

“On the _İrem_.” She looked back up at him, a strange smile on her face. “Allow me, dear Shiro, to properly introduce myself.”

One moment, on the floor. The next, in the air, cape and cloak wide open like wings, as she gracefully leaped onto the other side of the room, seemingly without any effort.

“Woah…!”

“You find this movement surprising? It is a shame, Blue Paladin, that you were not taught what I know. For I am a Second Rank _Cumatilis_ of the First Division. A former and perhaps future candidate for your position!”

Like a wave tumbling and stumbling to the shore, she landed on both feet, her cloak still floating even as she stood up from her dismount.

“But, for now…Dansçı will suffice.”


	6. Hain

Dansçı.

The moment that name tumbled from her lips, Shiro remembered.

Keith had told him, at some point, how he’d gotten on board the _İrem_ , even if they couldn’t figure out exactly how he fell into the hands of the Helvicta Corsairs after the battle. Shiro had been bought from one of the pirates, a very unlucky idiot who thought he’d been for sale. They were very mistaken. Bok had no problem killing off as many people as possible to get Shiro back, though he thankfully failed. Why the pirate really had it out for him, though, Keith didn't know. No one did.

(Maybe because he was _Shiro_? Ha. It disgusted him. Thinking that was revolting.)

But as for the Galra who, as he felt the thoughts in his mind ruffle with offense at the concept, _bought_ him?

Keith had spoken of this particular woman, reluctantly, when he had opened up about things the past month or so.

She’d claimed to be part of a special group. A group of potential Paladins, practically raised by Zarkon himself to be his backup. To claim Voltron and become the new Paladins, working for the Empire, when Zarkon finally got his hands on every Lion. She was well-trained, certainly enough to hand Keith his behind on a platter with very worrying ease. She could sense Paladins and their potential, even to the point where she correctly guessed that Keith was, at the least, not the Blue Paladin.

It made sense, Shiro realized to his horror, if she herself was indeed trained to be a potential Blue Paladin.

_A once and future candidate for…_

He felt himself moving closer to Lance as his thoughts raced to think of everything Keith had told the team about this creature. She, on her end, simply smiled.

A smile that didn’t reach her eyes, much less the bottom of her nose.

“I hope you do not mind, dear Shiro.” she said smoothly.  “Your changes made it impossible for you to finish your inspection of the ship, or to meet the commander. I have taken it on myself to help you complete it so that we may continue our preparations.”

“Inspection?” Shiro turned to look at Lance as he looked up at him, brows scrunched in confusion as he spoke. “What…when did that happen? Hunk said all you did was—”

“And,” Dansçı naturally ignored Lance’s response. “If you are truly inclined to, you may order your teammates here to accompany us. I, of course, have little inclination either way as to what you do with them.”

“…Of course I want them to come with me.” Shiro frowned. “And I want to know where Keith is. I’m sure you know where he is, right?”

She stared back at him at the question, her eyes impassive, before she turned, her cloak almost floating as she turned.

“Shall we?” Her head instantly turned to the moaning Tüylü, who was letting out a moan. “And _you_. Stay here. I will conduct the tour myself.”

 

* * *

 

To compare being shown around the _Kan Tarlası_ by Tüylü against being shown around the ship by Dansçı, was like comparing apples to an armed homing missile.

Unlike the newcomer who cowered at the sight of him, Shiro could practically feel the danger radiating off Dansçı as she slowly, almost casually, strolled in front of he and his two companions, like they were doing to pick up groceries. Whereas Tüylü was just a little puddle, Dansçı was an ocean on the edge of a storm, waves rolling from her, lapping behind her and the tide threatening to overwhelm Shiro should he or his friends wade in to her personal space.

It was terrifying to feel such a strange sensation, as it was nothing at all like Lance’s aura, which was a calm tide in a lagoon at sunset. Though he kept Pidge close, Shiro felt himself keeping Lance closer to him, even bringing a hand to the other’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Lance looked up him, eyes blinking. “What’s up?”

“…Nothing.” Shiro quietly shook his head. “We can talk about it later. Just stay next to me.”

“You realize you shouldn’t be talking at all, don’t you, Paladin?” Dansçı seems bemused, her voice almost singsong. “Even if you are a treasured guest of Shiro, your position is hardly secure.”

Shiro couldn't help the low growl that emanated from his throat.

“Are you threatening my friend, Dansçı?”

“Oh, _never_.” She turned her head around, smiling. Still, nothing about her cheerful expression reached her eyes, nor did the predatory air decrease around her. “But you must understand, most of the soldiers of the _Kan Tarlası_ do not fully comprehend your friends’ position in your eyes. In their minds, they are little more than prisoners, and must abide by the rules when in your Presence. That, of course, means they must keep their mouths shut.”

“I suppose I don’t have a say in that?”

“...No.” Her eyes closed. “Not yet, at least. Perhaps, after you speak to the commander.”

“The commander of this ship.” Pidge mumbled. “They must rate highly if the likes of you are on the ship, right?”

“…The commander is very well connected with the upper echelons of the Galra Empire.” That seemed to be all she would concede. “You’ll come to meet him, soon enough. You'll understand. He’s certainly on tenterhooks to meet you, dear Shiro! But, he’s currently preparing for the final leg of our cruise.”

“And where exactly are we going?”

“You’ll see. The commander will make sure to explain everything, that much I am certain.” A large panel door slid open. “Ah, the soldiers’ quarters. The commander has six dozen hands on board, not including the gladiators, which may be activated at any time. We have one-third of our soldiers off-duty on rotating eighteen- _saat_ shifts…”

Before Shiro walked into the primary hallway, he could hear the murmurs and discussions of the crew within. A few of them were talking about going to a planet for vacation in several _hafta_ – a resort was there that was popular with low-ranking soldiers, and it was a rare treat to get time off. A few were complaining about the food selection from the mess hall. One was talking about writing to their parents (“You think my parents would believe I got to see _Shiro_?”); one was making a joke at the expense of Bakıcı (how _dare_ they…); and one was…apparently filing their claws (he would have to make a note that was even possible).

The moment he stepped in to the hallway, however, the atmosphere changed. The talking instantly stopped, and two dozen sets of eyes beneath darkened helmets were briefly – ever so briefly - on him, even as every blue-and-red-orange-accented grey knee went down to the floor, before the eyes turned downward, not daring to face him.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Shiro swallowed, and he could feel Lance and Pidge freeze, at the sight of every soldier, of every shape and size, some even comparable to him now, bowing to him, even as Dansçı spoke in such glowing terms. “They would anything for you. Indeed - they would die for you. We all would die for you without hesitation.”

Pidge let out a sputtering cough, and Shiro bent down and quickly drew her beneath his arms, as best as he could. She really was so tiny now, compared to him.

“…I…”

_Why?_

_"Because you're Shiro."_

_But_ why _-_

“Come.” Her cloak floating, Dansçı turned on her heel and casually swept out of the hallway, passing his dumbfounded self and his even more dumbfounded friends. “There’s more to see, dear Shiro.”

 

* * *

 

The _Kan Tarlası_ was definitely a ship of the highest caliber. It reminded Shiro of being on the space station where they had uncovered the quintessence operations of the Druids. However, this particular ship was likely of even better quality than that place had been. Despite denting the walls previously, it was clear it would take more than a few punches from Shiro to make any kind of hole, unlike those Helvicta junk ships.

The walls that weren’t just large, open, airy (if space could ever be airy for the obvious reasons) windows were smooth and dark, with bright purple lines. The purple on everything was just so vivid, as was the blue of Lance’s eyes as Shiro kept looking back. Pidge, meanwhile, looked much more washed out, greyer, along with her green eyes. It was strange to see colors like this, to see his friends look the same, and yet so…different.

Was this what Keith had seen when he first laid eyes on Shiro? A washed-out version of his friend and leader who he called like a brother? Even as he had taken that gun and—

“Dear Shiro.” Dansçı’s sweet voice permeated through his brain, forcing him to focus back on the present. “You no doubt saw the prisoner hold.”

“…Yes.” Shiro grit his teeth. “And I noticed Keith isn’t there.”

“Ah, Keith.” Dansçı continued her slow, rhythmic walk. “Yes. As a former crew member of the _İrem_ , he has been taken to a special holding place at the commander's pleasure. Unlike the other who still has a use for the twins."

Her vagueness was becoming irritating. Deliberately so? It was hard to tell.

"Still, the commander will personally ensure you see him, eventually.”

“ _You_ were a former crewmember of the _İrem_.”

Shiro’s accusation caused the Scholaris’ heels to stop moving.

“How come _you’re_ not in a special holding place?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Or spit on by the crew here like Bakıcı?”

Silence. Around him, Shiro could hear the slow-turning mechanisms of the ship, pushing it ever-forward towards whatever its ultimate location was.

“…Did anyone tell you what really happened, when Admiral Otac gave himself up?”

This time it was Shiro who stopped.

“He gave the creatures on the _İrem_ a choice when the when the summons was received from Central Command. They could come with him to face questioning about information that had been received by the generals concerning the ship's actions in the interim. Or…they could take the ship, flee and become hunted traitors.” There was a hint of derision in her tone. “I was one of the few who went with the admiral. My brother insisted on coming with me. The girl, Bakıcı, came only because of the twins. Did Keith tell you of the twins? What their skill was? It's why they're still alive.”

“…No.”

Did he? Shiro remembered Bakıcı mentioning the twins. But he couldn’t recall ever hearing of them. Perhaps Keith hadn’t gotten to opening up about them yet. What if he now never could?

_Where was Keith?_

“I see.”

“…He was opening up.” Pidge finally spoke. “But he did tell us about you, and your brother. They said he was crazy… and you—”

“ _Oh_ , my poor, mad brother. He was angry when they tried to separate us, to interrogate us.” Dansçı slowly turned her back towards the Paladins. “Of course, I willingly offered to tell everything I knew. It was my patriotic duty as a _Scholaris_ , after all, to reveal all that I knew about what had happened.”

“All that you—“

Shiro felt his body go cold. _Scholares_ , as he further remembered Keith saying, were practically the personal bodyguard of Zarkon. They gave their lives and bodies and minds to Zarkon, Holy Zarkon, a figure they saw as no less than a god. Dansçı, her mind cracked by the pressure, was in the end no different than the others trained by Zarkon himself to be potential Paladins when he at last had Voltron in his grasp, even after breaking as she did.

In other words, loyal. Loyal beyond even the most basic reason. Zealots.

And a loyal zealot, when asked to talk…

“What did you tell them.”

Dansçı’s eyes were bright as her head fully turned to face Shiro’s eyes.

" _What_ did you-"

“As I said. For Holy Zarkon, I would do  _everything_. And all that you think it means.”

From beneath her cloak, her hand – which no one had noticed, least of all Shiro, going into her clothing – whipped out. Lance let out a yelp at his side, and Pidge gasped.

“I did promise dear Kılıç, you know.” It had burn holes in it, and parts were still dark from exposure to whatever had touched it. There was no denying it was a piece of breastplate, and that it belonged to a broken set of Red Paladin armor. “That if I ever did return to favor, I would put in a good word for him. To let them know he had potential. Indeed, I wouldn’t be surprised…”

“Oh my god…” Pidge began to breathe quickly. “You…!”

“…if _I_ am the reason dear Kılıç is still alive, even before your own sake.” Shiro started to move forward, but he felt Lance grab his arm. He nearly tore it out of the other’s grip, but thought better of it, realized Lance was holding him back. He allowed it, despite his own quickening breath. “I knew the commander, after all. He trained with us, briefly, as a _Scholares_ , before he was banished. Sent off  parts unknown, to be a part of the regular arms of the Galra military like a nobody.”

“You...sold them out. You betrayed-” Lance’s grip on Shiro tightened to an uncomfortable degree as his voice raised and his body shook. “You sold Keith out—”

“No. I did what I was supposed to. Dear Kılıç understood. I’m sure he did. He knew that I am loyal to Holy Zarkon over all other things. I…”

Dansçı’s voice sharpened just slightly, and then…did it… _falter_? It might have, Shiro was sure of it, before just as quickly going back to a tone with an air of bemusement. Even a tone of teasing.

“I must wonder. Would you, any of you would suffer to know such knowledge, if Holy Zarkon Himself was on your ship and your leaders were unaware of his presence? Fitting Himself into the crew, complementing and aiding in your work without you ever realizing it? What _would_ you do?”

“Th—“ Shiro could feel Pidge seething. “That’s different, obviously! I think it would be obvious if someone like him were one our ship, because he’d be trying to kill us!”

“ _Are_ you so certain of that, little false Paladin?” The tone was so patronizing that Shiro almost moved his arm. Just so Pidge could slap the smug from the Galra’s tone. “I’m not so sure you would figure something even as momentous as that out.”

“Uh.” Lance grumbled. “Yeah, lady, pretty sure we’d be able to tell if _Zarkon_ was actually on our ship. And if he was, obviously we’d stop him.”

This resulted in Dansçı smiling, even chuckling, baring her teeth.

“If that is what you wish to believe, then very well.” She turned back. “It’s unfortunate. I don’t know if you understand the importance of Holy Zarkon to the Galra. Of being the ones to help lift him up and protect Him as a Scholaris, or if you ever could. My poor brother never did. How important being this is…he actually attacked a Druid when they tried to separate us! Such…treachery, to try and prevent me from resuming my duties after everything.”

“…Right, what does that have to do with—“

“Dear Shiro.” Something creeped into Dansçı’s tone as he found himself irritatingly cut off. Something excited, almost elated. “If there is one thing you must know, there is a great difference between us, and you Paladins, when it comes to traitors.”

Shiro’s heart began to beat faster at the tone. Something about her shift in tone was a new kind of terrifying.

“ _We_ believe traitors deserve everything they get – and eventually, they do.”

He brought his hands around Pidge and Lance. Pulled them closer to him. Neither of his friends made much of a move to stop him. Dansçı was already unsettling, but hearing such words so happily – so casually – dismissing her own flesh and blood as little more than a nuisance, Shiro could only imagine how she felt towards his friends. Especially Lance who was the Blue Paladin instead of her. _Especially_ Keith.

Where on this ship was _Keith_?

“Ah.” Before Shiro could speak, Dansçı moved again, smooth as water, cloak floating as she went forward. “Now. Shall we continue? There’s so much to show you, dear Shiro!”

 

* * *

 

The ship was a lovely ship, but in the end it was still a Galra ship. A Galra ship with soldiers, and imprisonment, and those guns, and no sign of Keith to be seen. No overt sign of escape. No contact with his Lion without gaining a headache.

The more that Dansçı showed them – and didn’t show them – the more nervous Shiro felt. It was clear she had a path, a reason, for the way she was showing them parts of the ship. First, the soldiers and their quarters. The mess hall, to show them how they were going to feed him and his friends The prisoner hold, again, for a second time. This time, Bakıcı was absent from her cell. No one would say – could say – where she was. Dansçı simply smiled when he asked. There was a weapons bay, but Dansci simply showed them the door, before pushing them onward. Clearly too risky to let them get a hold of weapons – or the Lions, if they happened to be there as well. Or in the cargo bay, which Dansçı made a point to completely avoid. Nothing important there, she claimed.

Shiro knew she was lying. There was an agenda to it all and it scared him to know that he would have to figure out just what it was, and why he, specifically, was the linchpin in it. She was clearly capable of anything; who knew what she had done and would do? Who knew what Shiro would have to do to stop her? She was going to do something to his friends, wasn't she? It was just a question of when, right?

He wasn't being paranoid, he was sure of it.

“There’s one more thing I must show you, before you can see the commander.” Dansçı led them to a large set of doors. There were several Galra runes over the frame, which to Shiro seemed to glow even brighter than the rest of the lights on the ship. “The medical bay. Here, we take care of everyone who have been brought on board, with the advanced technology befitting the best of the Galra fleet.”

“Lovely.” Lance’s tone was flat. “Is Keith in there?”

“…No.” The doors slid open. “We do have an important patient here, though. At the end of the hall. Would you like to see?”

“I don’t think we nee—“

“Dear Shiro.” The smile became toothy again. “It’s a simple request for all of you! I don’t think I want to make it an _order_ for your Paladins to follow, as they _are_ prisoners. Do you?”

Shiro glowered, as he stared back at her. Soon enough, Dansçı turned her face away, the smile still on her face, though her eyes flashed with something indecipherable. She even quickened her pace as she continued to the end of the hall.

 "Ah, but.” She finally came to the final door, pressing her hand to the panel to open it. “They’ve been expecting you, dear Shiro.”

“ _They_ —?”

The doors opened to a single bed room with an occupant on it, their body mostly covered with a sheet. Bakıcı was standing at the bed, her eyes wide at the sight of Shiro. She instantly fell to her knees, revealing the hooded figure behind her, sitting in a chair.

“ ** _HAGGAR!!_** ”

“Lance—!”

The Druid instantly stood up, as Lance pushed past Shiro’s arm and began to rush towards her. He was instantly stopped, however, as Dansçı’s hand shot out, pressing and then jabbing a claw firmly against the base of Lance’s skull. With a gasp, Lance collapsed like a noodle onto the floor.

“Stop…” Bakıcı was still on the ground, though Shiro could see her eyes dart towards Lance’s prone form. “Please, Paladins, this is the intensive care unit, please don’t fight—“

“How?” Lance whimpered as Dansçı loomed over him. “How did you do that!?”

“I can show you—“

Shiro pushed Dansçı away before she could say anything else. Then, he was instantly down at Lance’s side, intending to hold him up. Then Pidge spoke.

“Oh my god.” Her voice was shaky. “ _Oh_ my _god_.”

Shiro looked up to see Pidge staring at the patient bed. As his eyes looked at the trajectory hers went, it went to the head of the bed.

_No._

There were tubes with glowing purple quintessence, pumped from a large tank by a machine and into nostrils and arm veins and an unmoving mouth. Another machine hummed gently next to the other side of the bed, this connected to the other arm, pumping something white into the body. Above the bed was a monitor with a line and Galra numbers and several letters, steady and slow and mechanical. Too mechanical.

Especially with the figure whose head lay motionless at the end of the bed, their eyes half-open, the glowing yellow alien scelera completely unfocused and still. Their face was ashen and pale, without any sign of real life outside of that which was being forcibly pumped into him.

Shiro’s arms shook, even as they held Lance, as he stared at the all-but-lifeless body of Emperor Zarkon, mere feet from them.

“That’s…”

He was on his feet; he didn’t even realize he had dropped Lance as he zeroed in on the face.

_NO._

“Impossible.”

He was dead. He had to be. Shiro remembered fighting Zarkon, remembered phasing through his very body, remembered the moment he grabbed the bayard for his own. Remembered the moment Zarkon’s very life force surged into him, leaving him without six more months of his memory or a sense of time.

 _Zarkon_ was _dead_. He should have died.

He _needed_ to die.

“Shiro!!”

 _Shiro needed to_ —

He felt time slow, even as he heard Pidge and Lance – who, he only just vaguely realized, he’d just unceremoniously dropped on the floor – start screaming. Or was it Hunk? It sounded much more like Hunk was there, but if that was so, when did _he_ get there? He didn’t remember Hunk being there.

Hunk hadn’t been with them, had he?

“SHIRO!! **_STOP_**!! Behind you—”

He didn’t even realize his hands had tightly closed around the thick purple neck, that the figure beneath him was starting to shudder from dangerous throes, until he heard Haggar’s voice echo through his mind.

“ ** _That’s enough now…Shiro._** ”

He first felt Dansçı’s claw against the base of his skull. Then, he felt Haggar’s finger on his forehead, and then, as the screams of his friends echoed in his ears, he felt…he felt—

Nothing.


	7. Yüceltmek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must sincerely apologize for my delay. It's been a long several months, both in real life and creatively, and the story has become quite difficult to write in certain passages. For a variety of reasons. To explain them all would in some respects ruin the story as its unfolded. But I promise my struggle in writing this will make sense in context, once the story has further come to light. I hope.
> 
> (I won't lie, one of those reasons involved a random story idea I had one day that has since become the basis of what is now my entry into the Sheith Big Bang 2018. It's thankfully finished save for beta-ing, and now otherwise will be sitting on my hard drive for the next 6 months. So, I can concentrate on this story again more fully.)
> 
> Essentially, I prefer working at a good pace and having a good amount of a story finished before I post anything further, and I hit a big road block. The road block is mostly removed, but I'm still struggling a bit. It might even be obvious with later chapters where it was I struggled. This story will be done, though. It will be.
> 
> Just remember: patience breeds focus.

It was an eternity – mere seconds in reality, no doubt, but time didn’t have any meaning _here_ , did it? Not anymore, not to him, at least – before his eyes opened again and the numbness melted away.

He was no longer on the _Kan Tarlası_ , or even in space. He was back at the Galaxy Garrison—no, it was the town closest to the Galaxy Garrison. Miles away, practically the last stop before they went into the godforsaken, unforgiving desert landscape. Many stopped, but few stayed.

The building he was in was a restaurant, a local place run by one of the natives. It was made out of adobe, and it only held a dozen or so customers.

That was right. He…he’d come here before. He’d had meals in this place with his friends on weekends off – Keith and Katie included – where they’d have _patasca_ and _reineta_ with a white cream salsa, he’d share a drink of Pisco brandy with them and they’d drive back late at night, allowing them to see the stars in the clear desert sky. Heck, had his last meal in this place, at least his last meal at the Garrison, before they brought him to America for the launch.

It was because the Garrison was in this harsh place, that they had chosen _vicuña_ , that wonderful cloth, to wear beneath their clothing. It was a fabric unique to that place – unique to Earth.

Yes. This place was on Earth.

He was _home_.

No, wait. _Was_ he? He couldn’t be. It made no sense.  He…did he come back to Earth? When had that happened? He never even left the—

“Champion.”

He slammed his hands (oh god, his hands were claws, there was no way this could be real, _his hands weren’t Galra_ ) and he swerved to see the figure sitting at the table next to his, sipping nonchalantly on a glass of alcohol.

“You.”

He grit his teeth as the word that came from his mouth dripped with the venom and rage he felt in his heart. Haggar, meanwhile, made a face beneath her hood as she set the wine glass back down on the table.

Of course it wasn’t Earth. It was worse - he knew it, and he knew she knew it as well.

“This drink is wretched.” She sounded completely unimpressed by the anger Shiro was increasingly showing – anger as he began to stomp towards her. “Nostalgic memories aside, such as they _are_ , I fail to understand it’s appeal.”

There was only one place they could be.

“Get out of my head.”

“Maybe if I…” A cup of tea appeared, replacing the wine glass, which she sipped. “Hm. Better, I suppose.”

“I said, _get out of my_ —“

“Oh, I heard you the first time, Champion.” The Druid smiled under her hood. “Perhaps you think you can simply eject me, a paying customer, from this…fine establishment?”

He lunged. She disappeared, leaving Shiro to sprawl onto the table, sending _patasca_ everywhere. He growled, turning around to see her at the entrance of the restaurant, her hair gently blowing in the breeze. The cup didn't spill a drop as it floated over to her hands again.

“Oh, you’ve gone and ruined my snack.”

“What do you want.” Shiro grabbed his head as he stood up; it pulsed in beat with his heart. Yet this was his mind. Why? What was happening to him _now_? “ _What_ do you _want_ , witch!?”

“What does it matter what I want, when I already _know_ what you want?” She was watching him. Smiling. Laughing, or she no doubt would be. She certainly sounded like she wanted to. “You want answers, don’t you? Do you think beating me into submission will get you those answers?”

“If it’s what I have to do.”

“That doesn’t sound very diplomatic of you.” Another chair appeared, and the Druid sat down. “Surely the new Black Paladin wouldn’t attack one who hasn’t done them any wrong?”

“ _Wrong_!?” Shiro clenched his fists. His clawed, Galra fists, the purple already spreading to the rest of his human arm. “You’re Zarkon’s right hand! You destroyed planets, you…you destroyed families! Entire cultures! You’re no better than him!!”

“And you?” His claws became sharp as knives as Haggar spoke. “You think I destroyed you, don't you? I made you better."

"You made me a..." The word tumbled out before he could stop himself. "A  _monster_."

_Wrong. Wrong. All wrong..._

"Only _your_ actions make you a monster, in anyone's eyes." A tilt of her head as her eyes glowed, and she took another sip. "Did you not attack the one many see as the father of the Empire? The center of Galra culture and power? The very ruler of the entire universe! The very _hope_ upon which reality rests! How are _we_  all that terrible, in comparison to—“

“Don’t _even_ try it.” Shiro didn’t even bother letting the Druid finish, much to her slight annoyance if her clicking tongue was any indication. Even slight annoyance was a win in his book at this point, petty as it was. “What we did to Zarkon and your military was nothing like what you’ve done to the universe and we both know it. Whatever moral aggrandizing you’re going to try on me, it’s _not_ going to work.”

“Ah,” A puff of smoke came from Haggar’s sighing lips. “You’re just too smart for me, aren’t you? You and your lecturing about right and wrong. But I’m already in your mind. You may fight, but in truth, you are at my mercy and always have been. In here, I can easily make this memory go away. Permanently, if I must.”

With a snap of her fingers, the tables, the entire restaurant save for the chair Haggar sat at disappeared, leaving nothing by dry sands and deserts. Simultaneously, Shiro’s eyes widened as he felt the memory of the place slip from him like sand. He felt his hands involuntarily, almost desperately grasping forward, as it had so many times before in this place. Now, it was a memory he could no longer find, yet he still pushed to search for what had been taken away from him, even as his hands grasped at thin, cold wind. Had he not fought, he was certain he’d have forgotten what a _Chile_ was.

He still had _vicuña_ , at least. As long as he held that thought tight, the thought of what he wore, why they had chosen it, he’d still have something. Though who knew for how long, at this point.

“You really believe losing a single yıl is so terrible, hm? That a few memories here and there is terrible? I could erase your very sense of self if I so chose, right now. Lock it away and hide it all somewhere where you would never even think to look.”

It was like fingers dancing on folders in a filing cabinet, the way Haggar was so casually sifting through his mind. Shiro hated it, still fought it, but he knew she was right. By not being careful, by letting his emotions get the better of him the moment he saw that body on life support, he’d left himself open, vulnerable. He was careless, and now, she was taking full advantage of his lapse.

“Imagine…just imagine for a moment, would you? What else more I could do to you right now. Really, with everything I’ve already done, with the things you’ve gone through. What happened to you would have killed lesser beings, and has. You? You survive, even _thrive_ , and I’m still not finished with you. There are still things left…undone.”

“…What you did to me…”

He felt the scene around them shift, almost melting, until he found himself standing on a great bridge, a mountain at the very end with bright white spires, shining in the sun. Arus. That was right. What she did to him with the quintessence cocktail. He was going to get answers from her.

_Some_ how. He was at a disadvantage on his own home turf, inside his own mind, and it was terrifying to realize he was so ill-equipped to fight this battle.

“What _did_ you do to me?! How did you turn me into a Galra? It shouldn’t be possible and you and I both know it!”

“Oh?” The witch still sat in her chair, this time in front of the entrance to the castleship. “And why is that?”

“You don’t…” He swallowed, feeling himself moving closer to the witch despite him not moving. “Whatever you did to me, it doesn’t change a single fundamental fact. I don’t have Galra blood. I don’t have Galra ancestry. I don’t have Galra _anything_!”

“You have your arm.”

“That…” He grasped that arm tightly at the witch’s words. “That...that has nothing to do with changing _me_. Changing my arm doesn’t mean—“

“The rest of you is automatically Galra?” The Druid primly finished her tea, letting it disappear from her hands and replacing it with another cup. “Indeed. You’re…what’s the word your species uses? Hm. Human. You want to think that. You fight so hard to make yourself believe it - but when was the last time you really convinced yourself you were human?”

Shiro felt his body ripple at her words. She was right and he hated it. He certainly didn’t feel human at that moment. He felt far less than human. Less than gutter sludge, with the way he felt his body and mind pull him this way and that.

"When did you last decide you weren't a broken soldier?” she mused. “That’s what _he_ called you, didn’t he? When you last confronted him?”

“Ghk—“ Sendak appeared between them,  causing Shiro to start forward. “I won’t say it again, witch! Stop messing with my head!!”

“I’m not doing anything. This time.” The figure dissipated before Shiro could reach it. “Your mind is simply responding to my being there. It is you who brought forth Sendak at my mention of it. Though if you so want me to...'mess' with your mind further…”

The sky darkened around them, the clouds slowly turning purple, as Shiro felt a strange pull on his mind and self.

“No!” Shiro shut his eyes, forcing the skies to turn bright and sunny again. “No. Stop!”

“Hmmhmmhmm.” The throated chuckle from the witch was raspy. “Oh, but I don’t believe you were a broken soldier. Never. Not even at your worst moments. Not even with your…treachery.”

“Then what would you call me?”

“…Incomplete.” Another sip of tea. “But, for the most part, not anymore. At least physiologically. Physically. Those things will complete themselves in time.”

“And mentally?” She was here to break him. He knew it, she knew it-it took everything to keep his voice from shaking. "What do you have left to do to my mind, huh? What else could you possibly do short of just...taking everything away?"

“Hm.”

Haggar simply closed her eyes. No answer.

“Shiro…you don’t know the truth, do you? You’ve never once even suspected, did you?”

“What truth?” Shiro folded his arms. “That you’re trying to manipulate me? That you experimented on me to make me a weapon?”

“Oh, no. No, no, _no_. More than that.” The teacup’s clanking as it was placed back onto its saucer echoed through the sky. “The truth of your very existence.”

Shiro’s eyes widened as he felt a new pull. A real one. The sensation of something being drawn right from him. A memory, but one buried so deep in the ground, that only he could have put it there.

_Oh_.

“For countless yıl, the great bulk of my research has been centered on three things.” The quintessence chamber they found on that space station. “The optimal farming of quintessence for my liege.” His arm, powering up as it moved to parry Sendak, before melting into the Robeast of—oh god, _Otac_ — “The creation of stronger, more efficient soldiers which could use such quintessence with optimal results.”

“Admiral Otac…”

“And…” Otac’s metallic death screams echoed through Shiro’s mind before the form ripped apart, reforming back into an all-too-familiar silhouette. “The prolonging of the greatest Presence in the universe.”

“Emperor Zarkon.” Shiro shook his head, breath short. The screams of the admiral still resonated. “You mean the greatest threat to the universe.”

“Whatever you wish to think, for now.” That at least succeeded in causing the Druid to briefly, so briefly, glower again. “But I have dedicated my life to ensuring He endures, and that His goals should be forever pursued by Him. Of course, there’s only so much that even I can do to keep Him alive, especially now that He barely clings to what is left of his life. Thanks to you.”

“And I’m glad of it.”

“But not for long. You will see. He shall return.”

Suddenly, Haggar was in front of him, tea back in hand, the smile back on her face. There were stains of red on her fangs from the ruby drink.

“The universe wills it. It was a theory I’ve always entertained, that Zarkon’s Presence is so powerful, so necessary to the continued stability of everything! Why shouldn’t the universe desire to allow it to exist forever? So that He may continue His crusade to unite the universe under His gaze, forever and ever, as it should be. Even if His body should be destroyed, a new body, a new Zarkon, will return. Just as perfect as before. Or at least, everything needed for His perfection to arise again will be there…”

There was a strange, lilting, almost hypnotic quality to Haggar’s tone. She seemed to believe what she said. No – she wholeheartedly did. And realizing she did made Shiro’s chest hurt, before he realized he’d actually grown several inches.

_No_ , no, _is her_ voice _doing this to me—!?_

“It has always been a pet topic of mine, to understand such a phenomenon like…genetic reincarnation.” The smile on her face widened. “The odds are infinitesimal, of course, for any normal individual to ever be reincarnated with an almost perfect genetic duplicate, like their previous life cycle—“

“Of course it’s infinitesimal!” Shiro growled as he felt his teeth elongate. “There’s no such thing! A clone, artificially made, sure. But there are differences, and  _actual_ reincarnation—”

“It i _s_ possible for one as amazing as Zarkon!” A hiss, even as the smile stayed on her face. “The universe wills it, as I told you! To be reincarnated with the same genetic structure is possible, for one so important to the fate of reality itself! Indeed, it is truth now! I have the proof. I know where Zarkon’s been reincarnated!”

“Really?” He could already see a problem with her logic. It made him feel better about his changing sense of self. He could feel the scales growing on his back. “Doesn’t Zarkon need to be _dead_ to be reincarnated?”

“He…” Hesitation? Haggar shook her head. “No. He should have died a very long ago. When we prolonged His life, it raised such a possibility. Each passing _yüzyıl_ made it more likely, and so, as I’d calculated, we had to assume His reincarnation would eventually be born regardless of our efforts.”

Somehow the fact Haggar believed this made Shiro want to believe it even less. A reincarnation living at the same time as their previous incarnation? It made no sense. Not that it mattered right now - maybe this was his time to strike, while she seemed uncertain. He began to ready his arm, clenching his fist.

“Is that so? And how do you know this ‘reincarnation’ will play along with you?”

“Oh, course, it’s true, such an aberration was – is - problematic with the Emperor still alive. But…it doesn’t matter anymore. Especially now, for I long ago realized where His reincarnation was.”

She licked her lips, her eyes widening. Shiro’s arm began to light up. One good hit, and—

“After all…why would _you_ , a mere human, be so interesting to me?”

“What?”

Shiro quietly stepped back, his arm’s energy dying out almost instantly. The way her eyes glowed, the way she seemed so... _delighted_. Something was wrong. Of course something was wrong. _This was all wrong_.

“When I first saw you.” She moved forward, her hair floating on the breeze as it surrounded them both, as the skies above them darkened once more. Not because of her, though. Because of _him_. He could feel his worry permeate the clouds. “I thought your alleged prowess was nothing more than a fluke. How could something like _you_ defeat the Champion of the Arena? You, who’d barely been in the Gladiator Pit? Impossible. You were of such an inferior species, one so delicate and primitive, that it would have been a mercy to make you quintessence fodder and end your miserable life. But when I brought you in, I realized I was wrong.”

She held her hand up, and Shiro gasped as he felt something else pull from his mind. Something that he had forgotten had ever happened, something his mind had pushed away into the deepest recesses. A chart. Purple and glowing, almost all the bars were close to the top.

They’d stuck tubes in him and—

“For my purposes, to be considered a genetic reincarnation, one must match 500,000 genetic markers.”

The numbers, the colors, they all seemed to zoom in on him; he had let out a cry of confusion, a where are you taking me, as Haggar had come in, her finger pointing to him, robot gladiators suddenly grabbing at his limbs and dragging him away on a gurney.

He knew what he was being shown.

His mind instantly shut it down on him, and he shook his head as the scene dissipated.

“…No.”

“You? _You_ matched 592,142 genetic markers, with only your pitiful human ones active.”

“…Shut _up_.”

None of this was true. None of this was—

“How many times did we do that test, Champion? Ten? Twelve? A hundred, a _thousand_? The results were the same. That was when I knew.” Flashes of memories came to mind as she spoke, drawing them out, forcing him to watch. They were brief, overwhelming. Terrifying and graphic. He shut his eyes. “I had to draw them out. I did what I could. You began to change, under my guidance. You never realized it, did you? What I was _doing_.”

“ _Shut up_ …!”

“Even after you escaped. Did you not realize that you had changed?” Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at himself. Not at the Haggar-created illusion he had fought, but a different Shiro. A past Shiro, the one he barely remembered being, all smiles as he was prepped to get onto the Kerberos shuttle. He looked different. “Even just the few hundred markers I woke up triggered a genetic change? But it wasn’t enough. You were still so human! I was missing just one ingredient…one component that could complete the changeover to your true form…”

Smaller, darker. Frailer, even—

“…and thanks to your traitorous friend, the so-called Red Paladin, Kılıç, I found it…”

_“Shut UP_!”

“Oh, Champion _._ ” The witch began to cackle at his increasing desperation. “You cannot run from it. The truth has always been there! This was always what you were!”

“You’re _LYING_!!”

He grabbed his head. He was Takashi Shirogane. He was the Black Paladin. And because of that there had to be a way for him to get her out, to get her out get her out _get out get out_ _GET OUT_ -

“Oh, no, not Champion, right? It’s _Shiro._ Isn’t that right?” The laugh echoed through the sky. “Don’t you know what that word means, in the Galra language? Lion. _The_ Lion, Shiro. It is a title! A symbol! All of it, reserved for one person in the whole of the Empire! Your very name is that of—“

That did it. His arm sparked to life again, bright and angry. Rabid, even. His body, his memories, his mind, his name—even as he screamed, even as his sense of self shed those last human parts, even as he threw the massive ball of energy at the laughing druid and his mind clung desperately to the only fact he wanted to matter, he knew.

_My name is Takashi Shirogane. Haggar is a liar. I’m not a Galra. My name is Takashi Shirogane. Haggar is a liar. I’m not a Galra._

He knew she was telling the truth. She had to be.

_My name is Takashi Shirogane._

He stared down at himself, at the form that now faced him. It was Zarkon’s massive form, clad in the armor of the Black Paladin, as yellow eyes stared down at clawed hands barely concealed in gloves.

_Haggar…Haggar is…_

No – it wasn’t Zarkon’s form.

It was _his_ form.  

“They’ll learn. Your friends will learn the truth soon enough, and they will cast you out! And when they do, you will become what you were always meant to be!”

_My……name……_

Haggar’s voice echoed as she floated up into a sky now filled with streaks of lightning and charged with energy. She of course deftly avoided the energy, and indeed everything around them slowly collapsed and melted until there was nothing but black. She floated, still, as he fell into the void screaming.

“ ** _NOOO!!_** ”

Hands pressed down on him. It felt like hands. So real, so cold. So dark. He flailed helplessly as he heard voices murmur and shout through the dark. Felt hands even on his neck.  It was a very real sensation and yet he couldn’t believe it was real. Yet it was. Voice. Shouting, mumbling, hard to distinguish but echoing in his ears.

_Ab..inat…_

_D..’t do thi…_

_...lm dow…ant…hel…!_

_...iro…_

_…him go…!_

_…eas…it…re ok…_

Voices of people he knew like the back of his hand, and people he’d forgotten now and likely forever. He could swear he heard his own voice as well, outside of his screaming in this here and now as blackness became more and more overwhelming.

“Zarkon Reborn. That is who you are, Shiro! That is what you always were, and always will be!” Haggar’s voice, the strongest of them all, blasted forward and cried out with delight. “Always! _Always!! ALWAYS_ —“

_“Shiro?”_

“ ** _NO_** —“

The first sensation he remembered feeling was metal bending beneath his fists. The second was a reluctant hand on his shoulder, which he nearly, angrily, threw off. Nearly, until he realized who it was.

His fist trembled inside the newest dent in the wall he created, within the prisoner cell he was now vaguely aware he was in.

_Where…_

“Shiro.” Hunk’s voice came into his ears. It was real. It had to be real, it _needed_ to be. “Shiro, c’mon, man. Focus on my voice. You got this, ok? You got this.”

Shiro didn’t respond. Didn’t look at Hunk – didn’t dare to look at Hunk. He focused on the hand as it gently rubbed into his shoulder, on his breath as it slowed, and on his heart as it furiously beat in his chest. He shut his eyes, feeling his throat burn, and slowly fell to his knees.

_I…I am…_

He didn’t deserve this. No – his Paladins, his family, didn’t deserve this. How could he face anyone now, knowing now what he knew?

“Shiro?” Hunk’s voice floated again through the air, into his ears. “Shiro, c’mon. Talk to me, I’m here for you. Please…what happened? Are you ok?”

A long, long pause, before Shiro opened his eyes. He couldn’t lie anymore, could he? It was all too much. If he lied, he would be no better than Zarkon. He would be no better than _himself_ , wouldn’t he? 

“…I—“

“Ah, _there_ you are."

Shiro’s eyes widened at the new voice, and his head bolted up. That didn’t sound like Hunk that spoke. That didn’t sound like Haggar. Actually, that didn't sound like anyone he knew at all. They didn’t move like Hunk did – their shadow moved too fluidly, too easily, as they stepped over…something...the soles of their feet clacking on the hard ground as they approached.  

What – _who_ – was this now?

“And you ruined this cell!” The voice was smooth, almost honey, as it let out a . “It appears we’ll have to move you, Prisoner 125-4621…or should I call you…what was it? Hunk? You realize you should have stopped him before he destroyed everything in here, don’t you?”

“Stopped—“ Hunk’s other hand went to brace Shiro, trying to grab him from the ground, hold him up straight. “Me!? I…how was _I_ supposed to stop _him_?”

That stung, especially coming from Hunk. Especially as Shiro turned his face, felt his blood go cold as he saw the cell door on the ground, bent in half like a piece of paper. He…he did that. He _did that_ , and it was no doubt far too easy for him to do, knowing what he knew now.

And he didn’t remember doing that. Much as it hurt, he couldn’t blame Hunk – he could only imagine how terrifying he was right to Hunk, and that wasn’t even counting the fact that Shiro was also now terrified of himself. How long had he been actually talking to Haggar? When did he do that to the door? What else had he done while he’d been in the void of his mind? Who else had he—

Where… _where was Lance and Pidge_?

Then.

_Where was Keith?_

“I mean…” Almost immediately, Hunk’s tone became apologetic. It didn’t matter; Hunk now certainly knew what he was capable of, and Shiro wouldn’t have blinked if he’d dropped him back on the floor in disgust. “I didn’t mean it like…like that. You just kind of…all of a sudden? You ran in screaming incoherently and then you ripped my door off and punched my cell up…it…caught me off guard? I didn't think it was, um, good to get in your way when you were like that. I'm not scared!"

Even though his voice was still squeaking.

"I…you sure you’re all right?”

“…Its ok _._ I’m…” Not ok. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Shiro summoned as calm a voice as he could. “I didn’t hurt _you_ , did I?”

“Nope!” Hunk’s answer was immediate, and even not looking at him Shiro could feel the furious head-shaking. “No, really, you didn’t! You didn’t lay a finger on me.”

“Well, wonderful!”

That strange, sweet-sounding voice again. This newcomer’s voice was somehow slightly reminiscent of Coran’s, but younger, and not accented. Feeling Hunk’s hands firmly on his waist – he was grounded, he was here, this was real – Shiro finally forced himself to look up to see—

“And it appears your changes have mostly settled in, hm?” A more masculine-sounding Haggar with a blue star on their dark breastplate, and red-orange lapels and accents on their dark grey suit. They were flanked by three of the Scholares and four other soldiers, guns in hand. “Indeed, I’d say you’re just about done with them all! I suppose the witch was right about this little side venture of hers, after all.”

Shiro found himself blinking several times to make sure he was seeing things correctly. No, that wasn’t Haggar. Yet the face, purple as it was, unmarked as it was, looked too much like hers, like an Altean’s face would. The hair was long and white, like Allura’s, with some of the shorter layers carefully tied into a ponytail, much as Haggar’s had been, according to Allura. The yellow scelera, however, didn’t glow as hers did, revealing deep, royal purple pupils which looked him up and down with a bemused hum on his lips.

“Incredible. Absolutely uncanny.” The figure revealed a toothy grin as he – it _had_ to be a he, right? – finished his inspection of Shiro. “Well, I suppose with your Processing finished, you’ll want to meet the commander of this ship.”

“…You bet I do.” Shiro didn’t like the worrisome feeling in his gut as he spoke. “After you show me Lance and Pidge _and Keith_ are alive and unharmed.”

Not just because of what he might have done to them in his haze, and he _desperately_ hoped to high heaven he hadn’t harmed them, but because of what this person might have done to them, to boot. Especially to Keith. There was still no sign of him.

The man merely smiled. Smirked, even.

“I’m afraid that fulfilling your command to the letter might be a problem, Shiro.” The man brought delicate-looking claws to his hair, raking it through his hair and flipping it almost nonchalantly. “You see…I am the commander this ship that you so desperately wish to meet. As for the rest of your Paladins…”

His eyes drifted over to the Scholares, who, at the sight of his tilting head, snapped to attention and floated away from the scene before them.

“Of course, you _will_ clean this up after we are finished with our parlay…Hunk, right? Hunk.”

With a final smile towards his friend, Shiro glowered as the commander turned and began to casually stroll out of the cell. Instantly, the guards walked in, bowed down deeply to Shiro, and then stood back up, guns drawn on Hunk. Shiro felt his hand go around his friend (but for how long?) even as the guards motioned, grabbed Hunk’s shoulder.

“Shall we, Shiro?”


	8. Yemek

Once more, Shiro found himself led by guards around the ship, with at least one of his friends at his side. This time, however, they were with a new addition, one with definitive Altean features, a spring in his step and an ever-present smirk on his face as he kept turning back to look at Shiro and Hunk.

“You will have to forgive my inclusion of the Scholares in this little…ah, what’s the term you humans use? Field trip, that’s it.” The commander strolled down the halls as if this were any other normal day, and he didn’t have Voltron’s Paladins being gently shoved behind him out of an elevator.  “Usually, my own guards would be more than enough for security, but given the momentous events we’re about to embark upon, well…it didn’t seem all that proper to not bring them along as an extra precaution.”

He turned and smiled at one of them, who immediately nodded their head in silence.

“Especially when I trained some of the best and brightest of them in their youths. There is some history.” Shiro watched as he clasped his hands together, rubbing them several times. “And of course, there are my troops. All of them I picked especially for my team. All of them with…specific qualifications.”

“Commander.”

Shiro’s head snapped around at the sound of the soft voice. Dansçı stood at the end of the hallway, unmasked, her eyes directly fixed on him. His hand tightened on Hunk’s shoulder; the other actually flinched as Shiro felt bone creak under his grip, and he instantly loosened up. Too much. Too strong. He really had no clue just how strong he was now.

He didn’t break anything in Hunk’s body just then, did he?

“ _Cumatilis_.” The commander crossed his arms, disappointment leaking into his tone. “You’re unmasked. Might I ask why?”

“Ah, my dear friend. You needn’t worry. I was simply preparing the Paladins for your entrance.” Her hand came up, holding the mask onto her face. With a click, it re-attached itself to her suit, and Dansçı’s voice was once more distorted. “As per your orders.”

Even with the mask on, Shiro could tell that he was being stared at. At least he now understood her fascination with him. He was…to her, he was Holy Zarkon, wasn’t she? No wonder she had posed that question to Lance and Pidge about Zarkon being in the Castle. Which made the prospect of revealing what he now knew all the more daunting, putting a new, deeper pit into his stomach.

He had to tell everyone. They had to know, but how in the world was he going to tell everyone? And what would happen after that? His friends, Coran,  _Allura_  of all people—

“Very well. Dansçı, dear. Open the doors.”

The commander snapped his fingers, and on cue Dansçı turned on her heel, revealing that the wall behind her was, in face, a set of massive sliding doors, framed in glowing purple quintessence lines. She placed her hand on the center where the doors met her handprint causing the decorations inlaid within the door to light up with quintessence as well, creating a larger pattern that, to Shiro, seemed similar to that of the lines on Zarkon’s breastplate.

Zarkon.

_Zarkon._

No –  _Shiro_.

For a moment, Shiro felt the air grow cold, and everything became dark. With a blink, he was staring up at a black ceiling, in a black void, screaming once more. No. No. He could hear Haggar’s laughter. Could feel himself using his metal arm, again and again, on Keith—hands on his neck—

“Well?” He blinked again, and the commander was motioning towards the open door. His arms were empty, and he turned to his back, then to his front, to see that Hunk was being escorted into the room. When did that happen? When were they separated, and why didn’t he feel it when it happened? “Shall we, Shiro?”

Shiro gave the commander one more glowering, withering stare before he started walking. None of the guards touched him as he strolled past – probably one of the few advantages of his situation (for who would dare touch him…). The commander, far from shrinking away at the sight, simply closed his eyes, the smile never leaving his face.

“Right this way, Shiro.”

‘Right this way’ was a staircase leading up to a massive room within the two doors, encased in a panoramic dome of windows. It had an excellent view of the stars beyond, and in particular of the pale pink planet that the ship was approaching. It was small, its silhouette just barely covering the system’s bright red sun behind it. It would have been, at any other time, a beautiful sight to behold and ponder over.

Shiro’s own sense of wonder, however, was interrupted by two loud voices coming from the center of the room, where a massive table inlaid of a dark metal sat. Two voices from two figures who sprung from their feet and ran towards him.

“Shiro!”

“Shiro, you’re ok!!”

Shiro could feel arms suddenly thrown around his waist and upper leg with such force that he actually swayed a bit from the impact. Quickly he bent down and closed his eyes, holding them to his chest. He tried to be gentle, though he could still hear creaks and cracks in their backs.

“You need a chiropractor, Lance,” he murmured.

“Haha! I don’t care.” Lance’s voice was muffled under Shiro’s arms. “Man, I was so worried about you! You just ran out of the room screaming after that weirdo touched you…!”

“Hey, it’s ok, Shiro…” Pidge must have felt Shiro’s arms stiffen at the mention of Dansçı. She certainly glanced over towards the Galra as she spoke. “At least we know where Zarkon is, right? And he can’t hurt anyone else anymore, now.”

Pidge meant it as comforting. He knew she did. But his eyes widened, nevertheless, as she said it. Right over Pidge’s shoulder, at the exact moment, the commander slowly loomed into view, toothy smile on his face, fingers clasped together.

“Ah, how touching! Don’t you agree, Hunk?” His eyes shifted to the side, his tone close to borderline-mocking. “Reunited with his team at last. It’s simply heartwarming.”

“Uh…” From behind the commander, Hunk gulped. “Why are you asking me?!”

“Why not?” The commander drew Hunk, who let out a squeak at the motion, into his arms and over-aggressively poking his cheek. “You’re the only Paladin not in the…oh, what did the witch say you call it? The cuddle pile?”

“Ow, ow,  _ow_ —” Hunk stuttered, his cheek nearly up to his eye. “C-could you please not do that?!”

“Why not? It’s…what’s the word?”

“Annoying!?”

“ _Adorable_.” One more poke, and Hunk yelped. “I’m sorry, but you look cute when you’re scared _,_ Paladin.”

Shiro’s head came up at this, a low growl in his throat. He recalled Hunk’s mention of the witch going through his memories, remembered how fearful and worried he had been then. Now, he wasn’t going to let Hunk be exploited further, if he could help it.

“Stop touching Hunk.” His voice was low, brooking no argument. “ _Now_.”

“Oh, fine.” The commander pouted, letting Hunk go. “I just wanted to be part of this  _wonderful_ moment with you and your friends, Shiro. But, as you wish.”

“Yeah?” Slowly, Shiro released Pidge and Lance from his grip. “Just one problem, commander.”

“Oh?”

Shiro swept his arm over the room. There was Pidge and Lance in front of him. Hunk, near the commander.  Several guards were in the perimeter; he could see Tüylü on the complete opposite end of where the Scholares stood, which was around a large, ornate chair at the end of the table. And in between the Scholares and behind the chair, once Dansçı quietly slid into her proper place, stood a scowling Haggar, as still and silent as the white-clad enforcer. Standing at the center of the table was Bakıcı, who still didn’t look at Shiro’s face.

There was one person missing from the group.

“Keith. I told you. I wanted to see my  _entire_  team, unharmed. Where is he?”

“Oh, yes, Keith.” The commander plopped into his chair with a flourish, raking his hands through his long white hair as he did so. Dansçı quickly leaned down towards his ear; after a moment, he waved it away. “The Red Paladin, yes? He is here, but he isn’t quite ready yet to be brought out, it seems.”

“What do you mean, not  _ready_ —“

“In the meantime,” The commander cleared his throat. “As enthralling as this conversation is, I’ve been informed that you haven’t had a decent meal since your arrival on this ship. In, oh…well, it doesn’t matter. The effect of the refined quintessence on your body will be wearing off soon.”

“The Blue?”

“Oh, no  _no_!” The commander laughed Hunk’s hopeful question. “Not the wretched Blue. The refined quintessence supplied by the witch alongside it! It helped speed your transformation, Shiro, with tremendous results. Indeed, one could go for weeks and months without food with the amount you were given under normal circumstances, but…no matter what, the energy eventually exhausts itself. Doesn’t it, Haggar?”

From behind the commander’s seat, Haggar’s glowing eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, Haggar!” At this, Lance piped up. “Gotta love when your own people reveal how you managed to do thi—“

“Kindly shut up, I was still talking.” Instantly, the Scholares were on Lance, who pouted, but immediately stopped talking, as the commander continued. “Er…thank you. Now, Shiro. Since you are my…guest, and your friends are mostly here, I thought we might have a discussion over your first meal as…well, Shiro!”

Shiro felt a lump in his throat as he looked down at the table. He hadn’t noticed all of the food, and at the sight of it, he simultaneously didn’t feel hungry, and at the same time, felt a rumble in his stomach as the smells hit him, and the guards walked forward, opening up plate covers to reveal the food within.

“Woah.” He watched as his friends’ mouths opened. It was a table full of sumptuous food and drink, the quality of which Shiro hadn’t had in years. In the center was a giant, tentacled monstrosity, cooked and succulent. Or was it tentacled? He blinked again, and it looked more like a worm with antennae. Or maybe it was just legless to begin with.  And blue. No, purple. Maybe indigo.

He turned to look at his friends, whose eyes were wide. Not at the food, but at him. Why? Wait. What was he looking at again? He shook his head, and found himself slowly sitting down. His friends staring at their own plates of food – save Pidge, who was looking at him, and the commander. He was also looking at him from his place all the way across the table from him, albeit with a bemused expression. He was clearly enjoying himself.

“Shiro?”

“I…” He shut his eyes. Something was off about this. When had he sat down? “I don’t think it’s poisoned. They wouldn’t poison me.”

“Are you sure?” 

Pidge’s voice managed to pierce his confusion, and he took a deep breath. Maybe it didn’t matter when he sat down, as he stared at the food in front of him. He was down and he had to make a snap decision. Any decision would do, wouldn’t it?

“I’ll try it first. You’ll know if it’s poisoned.”

“Wonderful!” The commander, on his part, helped himself to a large helping of a curly sweetbread, the smell of which reached Shiro’s nostrils. It smelled foul, like days-old fish. “I’m certain you’ll find some of your, ah, favorite foods among the selection. Just choose what you wish, or I’ll just have my prisoner here fill your plate with what you want. She can’t poison it, either, by the way.”

_Mine, or…_

Shiro stared at the selection. With a snap of the commander’s fingers, Bakıcı was immediately grabbing his plate.

“I…I’m not—“

“Now, Shiro. Surely you’ll endeavor to have  _something_?” He could feel every eye on him, even as his eye was on Bakıcı as she began to fill his plate up. “The saçmalık balls in syrup is particularly delicious. And we wouldn’t  _dare_  to eat before  _you_  started, now  _would_  we?”

Clearly directed to Lance, who had grabbed himself a bowl of a dark red soup, a mouthful of which was halfway to his mouth.

“It’s…ok.”  _It’s not ok. Nothing about this is ok._  Shiro nevertheless nodded as he quickly grabbed a small mushroom-like disc with a slimy worm on top of it. “Guys, just…help yourselves.”

He thus popped it into his mouth, slowly chewing as Bakıcı plopped a plate full of food down in front of him. It was slimy but cool, the juices reminding him a little of a mix of pepper and broccoli tossed in milk. Spicy, bitter, and yet tangy and sweet.

He quietly helped himself to another, his eyes watching as the commander made bemused, unwanted running commentary about his Paladins’ choice of food. Hunk had the most modest plate (“Ah, yes, bayıldı, made with the finest oils from the remaining Galra home worlds...”), followed by Lance (“Now that you’ve guzzled your soup you’re having kumru _after_? My my…”), and Pidge with a pile of what looked like sausage, albeit with legs (“Just sujuk? That’s all you’re having? How positively…provincial for a Paladin of Voltron! Still, excellent choice.”) Everyone was served drinks, in particular a dark, foamy hot drink served in tulip-shaped cups, which reminded him of cinnamon and boiled root beer.

Shiro found no enjoyment from any of it. Of course, to everyone else it was probably delicious, if his friends’ reactions where any indication. Yet even as he ate, he felt nothing but  _I’m eating_  and  _they’re going to find out_  in his mouth and mind. The more he thought about it, the faster he chewed, and the faster her could feel his heart beat.

“You really are hungry, aren’t you?” Shiro looked down again at Hunk’s voice, finding his plate almost completely clean. “I guess it’s been at least a few since you ate…”

“I guess…” And then Bakıcı was filling up his plate again. “I can get my own food, thank you.”

“But of course.” The commander snapped his fingers. “Take her back.”

“No!” Everyone else at the table, save the commander and Pidge, winced. Shutting his eyes, Shiro swallowed. “I mean, she can stay. Its fine.”

“If you must insist,” The commander sighed as they helped themselves to some more food. “Not that she deserves to stay here.”

“And why is that?”

“All in good time.” The figure in front of Shiro casually leaned his head against his arm, the other readying his tulip-shaped cup. “Now. Shiro. Let’s get down to business. How  _do_  you feel about being the genetic reincarnation of Zarkon, hmm?”

Hunk and Lance promptly spit the food they were eating out at the question, while Shiro’s eyes widened.

“You—“ Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Pidge not chewing as she stared at him, her own eyes wide. “How did you—?!”

“Know?” The strange not-Altean chuckled. “I learned the same way you found out. The witch told me.”

Behind the commander’s chair, Shiro saw Haggar glower further, and coil back slightly at his words. Her expression was decidedly displeased at the casualness of his words.

“You…!?” Lance was coughing, smacking his chest. “What do you  _mean_ , Shiro’s his…!?”

“No…no way!” Hunk was up on his feet the moment he recovered from his own shock. “That’s got to be a lie. It’s a lie, isn’t it, Shiro? You can’t  _possibly_ —he’s still  _alive_ , yo!“

“I believe it.”

Everyone’s head, Shiro’s included, whipped over to look at Pidge. Pidge, in response, continued to munch her food, swallowing what she had in her mouth. She didn’t seem angry, or shocked, but thoughtful as she looked over at him.

“Actually, it answers questions about you I’ve had since we’ve been here.” Her tone, however, was flat, analytical, as she brought her hand to her chin. Worrisome, because it was a tone she also used when she was upset and wanted to hide it. “You’re way taller than almost every Galra here. The guards practically worship the ground you walk on, they bow and scrape every time you come near them. You’re basically being kept in the best room on the ship and the fact those Scholares keep carrying you around when you get knocked out…”

“Pidge…”

“And actually, now that I think about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your facial structure as a Galra does look a lot like his, too. The muscular structure, too. And your reaction to the Blue—”

“ _Katie_.” Shiro felt his chest drop to the floor. “I swear, I didn’t know  _anything_  about this until Haggar went into my mind.”

“…I know you didn’t.” A flash of something indecipherable crossed Pidge’s face. “That’s…you couldn’t have known, right? No known Galra heritage in your family that you could remember. You told us that.”

“And I  _meant_  it.”

“Well, it is unfortunate you don’t have any, though.” The commander, meanwhile, popped a black ball of some kind from a holding goblet into his smiling and increasingly irritable maw. Shiro couldn’t help but flash a glare at him, which only made the smile widen as he chewed. “As opposed to originally just being… _human_ , or whatever you call your species. Kuşüzümü, anyone?”

“…Then it’s true?” Hunk’s voice brought him back to his friends. He and Lance were both looking at him, in fact. “Everything they’re saying right now is  _true_ , isn’t it? You’re…you’re basically  _Zarkon_?”

The question hurt. Having it be his friends have to ask him to begin with hurt, and the way Hunk said it – shocked, with a hint of denial, as if there was no way something so insane could be true – it was painful.  

He could see the worry and concern – see the  _fear_  – in their eyes that they couldn’t hide. Knowing now, he was basically Zarkon this entire time, that this horrible thing was inside him all along, hidden beneath human skin, and waiting to be brought out after all these years. Knowing it was the reason they were all here to begin with – not just on this ship, but out in space. Out in the universe, as Voltron.

They were trying to save the universe from  _himself_.

Those four words he’d always told Keith, when he had even the slightest doubts about his Galra heritage, were untrue about him. During the times when Allura had been cold to him, when the Blade of Marmora revealed his legacy, when the word Galra came up in conversation, Shiro had stood firm on Keith being a true friend and ally. Allura had been wrong the whole time, but now Shiro knew why. It wasn’t that there wasn’t a Galra threat on board - Dansçı hadn’t been theoretical at all when she had taunted them.

_Would you, any of you would suffer to know such knowledge, if Holy Zarkon Himself was on your ship and your leaders were unaware of his presence?_

It wasn’t Keith who was the real threat to the team, after all.

_Fitting Himself into the crew, complementing and aiding in your work without you ever realizing it?_

It had never been Keith.

_What would you do?_

It hurt. It was physically painful. He knew his breath was quickening just thinking about it, and his urge to vomit was coming on strong as the moments passed. He wanted it to be wrong. Even now he wanted this to be wrong, wanted to be able to scream about how this was all a trap, a lie, a very elaborate fix concocted by Haggar and this annoying smiling purple-skinned Altean who was clearly not an Altean and—

He knew he couldn’t.

“It’s true.” His voice crackled in his throat as he closed his eyes. “I wanted to tell you myself. But I guess that’s…”

“Shiro.” Lance’s voice cracked. “You can’t be serious. This has to be—“

“Lance.” Shiro could only shake his head. He couldn’t look at them now. His head slowly bent towards the table. “I’m…I’ve been Zarkon this whole time.”

Someone’s utensils dropped onto their plate. Someone else was getting up from their seat. Well. This was it, wasn’t it? To drive a wedge between him and his team. Everything Haggar and this commander had done to him, from the moment he stepped onto the surface of Kerberos, the moment he was  _born_ , had led up to this moment.

He braced himself and opened his eyes. There was no running from it.

“This whole time…I was the enemy.”

Someone’s fist slugged him in the face, hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor. He didn’t bother fighting back. He didn’t even react to the bemused snorting he could hear coming from the commander. He deserved it. He expected it, and he didn’t stop it.

He wasn’t expecting, as he regained his bearings, for Lance and Hunk to stand over him, looking dumbfounded as Pidge went to grab his shoulders. She practically sat on his lap as she pulled him up to a sitting position.

“Wh--?!”

The Scholares didn’t move in, not even Dansçı; the commander must have been holding them back somehow. Probably relishing what was unfolding with that annoying smile of his. Instead, Tüylü moved in, gun in hand, to intervene against Pidge. The look she gave him made them stop, though their gun still ultimately aimed at her head.

“Say it again, Shiro.” She hissed, torpedoes shooting from her eyes as they glared back at his. Shiro realized, as she shook him, that one of her hands was starting to bleed from the knuckles. “You go  _right_  ahead and say what you just said  _again_  and  _see what happens_!”

Shiro found himself dumbfoundedly staring back. Lance and Hunk looked just as he no doubt felt, as he opened his mouth.

“Pidge, it’s tr—“

“ _No it’s_ not _true!_ ” Her nose shoved into his, and her eyes bugged right into his. “So you just happen to have Zarkon’s genes in you. So you just happen to look a lot like him now. So you just happen to look enough like our enemy to probably make Lance pee his pants!”

“ _Dude,_ ” Shiro heard Lance mumble. “Low blow.”

“And everyone working on this ship happens to reinforce it! Guess what? I don’t care.” The anger in Pidge’s eyes began to melt away to determination. “I don’t care if your genes are exactly like his and I don’t care if you look almost exactly like him.  _You_  are  _not_  Zarkon.  _You_  are  _not_  the enemy.  _You_  are not  _our_  enemy. That’s what they  _want_  you to think!” 

“What? I don’t think Shiro is—“ Tüylü immediately stopped talking when Pidge looked at them again. “Mm! Mm mm, I’ll just be quiet now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I  _thought_ , buddy.” Turning back to him, he could see her face soften. “That’s what Haggar and this…white-haired guy wants you to think. Maybe they really believe it themselves, but that’s not what _I_  believe. I know that’s not what Hunk and Lance believe. And I know Keith and Allura and Coran and the mice wouldn’t think that!”

Shiro could feel his eyes start to go wet at this.

“You’re our leader.” Or perhaps it was actually Katie’s eyes watering, because she has tears in her eyes. “You’re my  _friend_. No—you’re my  _family_! And you’re in so much pain and…and I know, it’s scary, and…why would you  _ever_  think  _any_  of this would change that for me?!”

She sniffed, and after that, Shiro couldn’t help it. Slowly, his arms came up, wrapping around Pidge. The instant he did, she threw her own around his neck, burying her own head into his shoulders as she sobbed. He quietly brought his head down, closing his eyes as he felt his own tears quietly trickle down his cheeks.

She was right.  He felt awful, and his brain said that there was no way Pidge could be right, and his body was practically a symbol of her being wrong. But his heart knew, at least at that brief moment. Deep down in what could only be his soul, he knew for that instant as well.

At least, he had to hope she was right.

Slowly, his long tail snaked, braced for a push. It was surprisingly strong to hold his weight, as he let it push him back up to his feet, still holding Pidge in his arms.

“What she said!!”

Shiro’s waist was instantly smothered by Hunk and Lance – both who were sniffling as well.

Their moment was interrupted by a loud, bored yawn.

“That’s nice.” There was little of the joviality in the commander’s countenance as Shiro looked over to stare at him. “Three-fourths of your crew still like you. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“ _Only_  three-fourths?” Hunk leaned out and glared. “I know for a fact Keith would feel the same way!”

“How unfortunate, too.” The commander dramatically pouted as he studied his nails. Behind him, Haggar’s mouth was set into a completely annoyed frown. “ _Really_ , witch, even after all of that, it appears you underestimated their resolve and loyalty to him  _just_  a little bit.”

“Yeah— _hey_!” Lance turned his head to glare at the commander. “You told us that Zarkon reincarnation-gene-thingy so we’d attack him, didn’t you!”

Shiro didn’t stop staring at the commander, narrowing his eyes as Lance spoke. He’d suspected from the beginning, of course, that there was some underlying motivation for the difference and treatment. Not just because he was apparently the emperor’s natural clone.

Not apparently anymore, obviously. But even so.

“…It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Hunk frowned. “Make us prisoners that have to serve Shiro, and make Shiro out like Zarkon’s second coming, show us Zarkon on life support…man, Bakıcı’s right, you  _are_  a jerk with nice hair!”

A shadow of annoyance passed through the commander’s face at the mention of the other prisoner, accompanied by a glare in her direction, before he stood up, casually shrugging it off. The pout was gone.

“You really shouldn’t trust the word of a traitor on principle. But, for once, you’re correct.” His hand went to his chest with mocking offense. “The witch’s wishful thinking was that you children would simply…break apart from the revelation. Poor Shiro already had a few pushes down that way, after all, even before he came here. Didn’t he? And it would have certainly made things much easier for everyone. Especially her.”

Suddenly, the four Scholares were right around them, each of them grabbing a Paladin and pulling with surprising strength.

“And it would have been less work for me, at the least. But, I suspected it wouldn’t work.”

Shiro knew Dansçı was pulling on him; he could hear her breathy chuckle beneath her mask as she pulled him backwards.

“Let us go!” He growled. “ _Now_!”

“Hmmm…” After a moment, the commander shrugged. “As you wish.”

Dansçı automatically let go. The other three, however, did not, and before Shiro could stop them, Lance, Pidge and Hunk were yanked out of his arms and abruptly dropped to the floor. Shiro moved to grab them, to pull them up, and found himself blocked by three masks, their owners no doubt staring right at him.

“ _GHK_!” He heard Lance grunt. “What, is this the part where you kill us now? Not exactly going to help you get Shiro on your side, you know.”

“…Now that  _is_ a fun idea.” A malicious grin spread on the commander’s face. “I do have a gun in the room right now, since you happen to mention killing…”

“ _Ugh!_ ” Pidge huffed. “Don’t give them ideas, Lance!”

“Don’t you dare—!” Shiro’s hackles were immediately up, and he began stomping forward. If the commander was attempting to push him again, it was – unfortunately – working. “ _Don’t you DARE_ —!”

“Oh! Me!” Tüylü raised their hand. “I have the gun, yes, commander? Do…do you actually want me to shoot them? I…”

Shiro brought his head towards Tüylü, a very loud, very angry, and downright feral-sounding growl in his throat. No doubt he looked just as mad as he sounded, for at this, the ensign yelped, looked at their gun, and slowly brought it down.

_Good idea._

“Ho ha, should I...” He heard the commander sigh. “You know what? No. Not worth it to toy with you like that. Besides, I haven’t even told Shiro about who I am, much less reunite him with…what was his name? Right, Keith.”

The growling in Shiro’s throat became louder at the mention of the name.

“How  _can_  I kill my guest and prisoners on top of that? It would be so  _rude_. I like to think I’m a decent host and warden, unlike some.”

“...You  _should_  kill them.” Oh, there  _she_  was. Haggar sounded utterly displeased. Looking at her, Shiro could see her eyes glowing with increasing irritation. “You’re letting your pride get in the way of what must be done now! Kill the other Paladins  _now_ , and I will—“

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The commander’s voice was nothing short of condescending. “Did I  _ask_  for your opinion on this, witch? I don’t recall doing so.”

“You and I,” The witch recoiled, letting out a hissed protest. “are in this together, whether you like it or not! For Holy Zarkon’s sake, for his vision’s sake, for the empire’s future! For everything we’ve worked for, you must act  _decisively_  and—“

“Don’t think that just because your delusions and distractions fit into Zarkon’s designs, that I see things the same way.”

Haggar recoiled, letting out a surprised hiss between her clenched teeth as the commander’s voice lowered. All the mocking and lightness in his voice was gone.

“Did you think you can wrap  _me_  around your finger as well? No. I know better.” Shiro watched as – and he never thought he’d live to see the day, frankly – the commander cut her off without so much as a second thought crossing his face, and then snapped his fingers. The four Scholares were instantly surrounding the Druid, staring at her with tilted heads. “In any case, you have already fulfilled his physical transformation and that is sufficient for my own personal goals.”

“What? But I have not finished the rest! His mind…! It is still changing, it is more vulnerable than before, we must continue with what I have started! We  _must_  act to—!”

His mind. Changing. Then, it wasn’t  _all_  Haggar. The terrible dream of his memory on the Irem, his almost attacking Hunk, the disorientation, the anger. That had not been her doing. It filled Shiro with some relief – followed by more worry.

Because those things  _hadn’t_  been Haggar.

“No. Your efforts were commendable, but in the end, for your purposes, they ultimately failed. I will now take over this ridiculous pursuit personally.” Haggar didn’t get another word in before the Scholares stepped towards her, practically towering over her with increased menace.  Meanwhile, the commander sighed as one would do when a dog peed on the carpet. “Go where you may now, Haggar. Tend to  _Holy_  Zarkon, if you must. But don’t let me see your face again, unless I summon you personally.”

If Haggar wasn’t angry before, her face most certainly belied how livid she was now. She looked around, hands up and coiled into half-fists, before her eyes met Shiro’s. He watched as her fangs bit into her lower lip.

“…This is not over,  _Shiro_.” She raised her hand up. “No matter what, you  _will_  embrace what you know is inevitable, sooner or later!”

A flash of purple lightning, a sweep of wind, and Haggar was gone. Shiro stared at the smoke which rose from where the Druid was standing, half-relieved, half-worried.

“…So can we go back to hugging?” Shiro looked back and smiled as Hunk piped up, slowly getting to his feet and grabbing Pidge’s shoulders. “I think I liked doing that more than whatever he’s planning.”

“Heh.” The smile faded as the Scholares instantly hopped back and surrounded them. “It looks like we’ll need to take a rain check on that, Hunk.”

“Boo.” Lance pulled Pidge up with him. “So now what?”

“Don’t know.” Shiro turned back towards the commander. “Pretty interesting, though, that you could order her like that. You’re not just the commander of this ship, are you?”

For a moment, the commander’s face scrunched into a sneer of contempt, before he began to laugh, running his delicate-looking hands through his long hair.

“Well, you  _would_  figure it out first, wouldn’t you? Of  _course_  I’m not, Shiro!” His condescending eyeroll belied his hair flip. “No mere commander would be allowed on the  _Kan Tarlası_ , much less command it as I do.”

Shiro watched as the hair seemed to float on its own accord, slowly and gently, like strings of clouds.

“The only one who may command  _Kan Tarlası_  is Zarkon Himself...” Shiro suddenly found himself locking eyes with the commander – who was suddenly mere inches from his face, hair still floating around him majestically, as he brought his hand to his chin. “Or his  _heir_. Dear old Emperor Zarkon is on his deathbed, and  _you_  are Zarkon Reborn, so…what do you think that makes  _me_?”

Eyes with irises and faint red marks beneath his eyes. Purple skin, much like Haggar’s – but he could see that his face was covered, also, with very fine fur and the faintest of scales. Long, tapered, dark claws, extended from fingers, also with fine scales covering the knuckles.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself, hm?” He flashed a winning, fanged grin at Shiro, his voice full of pride as he spoke. “I am…the Prince of Galra, and the he—“

“Oh my god, Shiro!” Hunk yelped. “That…then, he’s your  _son_!?”

“No.” Shiro’s response was flat and immediate. “He isn’t.”

“I mean, technically…?”

“…You know, I  _was_  speaking.” The commander’s voice was flat. “Hunk, really? Right. Could someone please tell him to not interrupt me agai—"

In a flash of movement, one of the Scholares’ was instantly in front of Hunk. A spindly arm suddenly socked across Hunk’s face, causing him to let go of Pidge. A second punch threw him to the floor. A streak of blood from the second punch coated the wall behind him, as well as on the shoulder of the Scholaris that had been standing behind him. They said nothing as they grabbed Lance and Pidge, separating the two Paladins as they attempted to intervene.

“Oh. I…” Hunk was pressed down, hard, to the floor, as the white boot of a Scholaris jabbed itself right into his diaphragm. Lotor chewed his lip at the sight. “A simple  _please_  would have sufficed, but..."

“Get off him!” Shiro’s hackles were immediately up at the sight. “You bully—“

“I wouldn’t.” Shiro couldn’t help but balk as Dansçı’s fingers caressed his neck, sending sparks through his nerves, before he could even finish his first step towards the commander. “Dear Shiro. Let your  _son_  handle this, hm?”

Shiro grit his teeth as he watched the boot press deeper into Hunk’s chest. Hunk, for his part, simply glared at the commander, even as Shiro heard the bones in his friend’s ribs start to groan from the increasing pressure and weight put on them. Too much more, and…

“With my time away I tend forget that you all tend to be very…direct.” Shiro let his own breath out as the boot lifted, letting Hunk gasp for air. “You can stop that now. I think he understands.”

Right before kicking him in the groin. Even the commander’s eye twitched as it happened.

“…Now, as I was saying.” The commander turned back to face Shiro, twirling a lock of infuriatingly thick white hair around his claw as Hunk rolled into a fetal position on the floor. “Yes. I have many titles and names, which I suppose I won’t be going over here. Takes forever to get through, anyways. Most may only address me by those.”

If looks could kill, Shiro was certain this man would be dead. Sadly, he wasn’t; if anything, he was taking some delight in Shiro’s anger, and in his friends’ agony – and ignoring Hunk’s - as they struggled against the firm grip of the Scholares.

“But you, Shiro, may call me…Lotor.”


	9. Pireler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. How are you all doing on this fine ni--
> 
> *comes home to see everything on fire*
> 
> ...Ah, of course. The new Voltron season. It probably goes without saying the Helvicta Blues is very much an AU that complies with....10 percent of everything past Season 2. Good number, nice and round. Yeah?
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> No worries. I've not abandoned this. I'm just working on other things as well, but I finally overcame a block on this work. Here's to hoping my pace can pick up a little more despite all my future Big Banging.
> 
> Shall we proceed, dear readers?

“…Lotor.”

Shiro slowly repeated the name, his tongue licking across his lips and fangs as he did so. He let it sink in, repeated it in his mind. Lotor – no, _Prince_ Lotor. Zarkon’s son, who had Altean features. But that made no sense, unless…no, not with _Haggar_ , right? Even knowing nothing about him other than what he’d seen, he wouldn’t dismiss his own mother the way he’d dismissed the Druid, would he? Yet she was the only Altean he could think of outside of Allura and Coran. The thought of Haggar possibly being a parent was also distinctly terrifying.

By the time he’d stopped ruminating on the thought, Hunk was already back on his feet, waving off Lance’s concern ( _when did that happen_ —) and Lotor was smiling at him, watching him. Waiting.

“I must have rendered you speechless!” Lotor chuckled. “Well, that _is_ a first. My father isn’t exactly a Galra who’s easily shocked.”

Shiro went to open his mouth, to respond, but found his words wanting. Indeed, none came out at all. Poison? Had he been poisoned after all?

“But, I’m sure we can wo—“

“Shiro’s _not_ your father.” Wait, Lance was speaking perfectly fine. Not poison, but then… _what_? “He’s not a psycho trying to conquer the universe and he never will be! Plus, his hair is way cooler than yours, so there.”

There was a brief flash in Lotor’s eyes, and in the next second Lance was on his knees, victim of a swift kick to the shins by the Scholares who had been holding him.

“What _is_ it with your Paladins interrupting me? And what does my _hair_ have to do with…” He arched an eyebrow as he looked over at Pidge, who responded with silence. He let out a sigh. “Ah well. It must be a human thing.”

“...Ugh…” Lance groaned. “Y’know, for someone who doesn’t look very Galra, you sure are full of yourself!”

Ah. Of course. Shiro let out a sound, a half-formed word, his voice restored. He shook his head and let out a breath.

“Lance…has a point.” _This is insane. This is all insane—_ “You have features of another species in you. Doesn’t that make _you_ …yarıldı?”

The commander slowly looked back at him, eyes like slits. Perhaps he’d touched a nerve. Good.

“Oh, Shiro, Shiro.” There was a hint of iciness in his voice as his words became grandiose. “I’m not at all _yarıldı_. After all, officially, I, being the son of a living god, happen to have more blood purity than nearly every other Galra in the known universe. Combined!”

Then, he snorted derisively.

“Unofficially, I _really_ don’t care.  _Yarıldı_ may, to some, be all about blood, but for me, it’s about proficiency. Loyalty. So long as someone is loyal to the empire and good at what they do, what do I care about how many parts of their blood is or isn’t Galra?”

He waved his hand towards Tüylü, who quickly, eagerly, stepped forward.

“Besides, unlike…a certain departed unperson whose name I won’t even bother remembering,” Otac. “I’ve luckily had enough influence and luck to allow my own crew to carry on as they were, even with my own changing status. No…Processing for them. Am I right, ensign?”

“Yes, commander!” To Shiro’s surprise, Tüylü bowed respectfully. “To be chosen by you is a mark of respect, a privilege for us half-breeds.”

“W-wait a second!” Now Pidge spoke, her eyes wide. “Are you saying your crew is half-breed like you!?”

“Mm?”

Lotor tilted his head towards her, and Shiro tensed up, the hackles on his neck rising. _Don’t you dare—_

“Well, at least you have _something_ resembling manners and didn’t interrupt me. Naturally. Of course, my crew is…half-breed, as you put it. And they, like I, are loyal to the Galra Empire. To...its continuance, its stability, and to the end of traitors who threaten both.”

With that, Lotor turned around, whipping his hair as he did and smacking Pidge with it. As Pidge sputtered, he looked over, as if slightly confused, before he walked to the windows.

“But you are right. My mother was not Galra.” Suddenly, his form began to shift and glow yellow. His hair began to shorten drastically, as did his stature, albeit not as much. “I inherited many things from my father, but I will admit one thing about my other side…”

As Lotor turned around, Shiro found himself letting out a shout. A Keith-shaped figure with white hair and faded pale-lilac skin simply grinned back at him. He didn’t look right. He didn’t smell right. His eyes were still inconceivably blue with yellow sclera.

Everything about him was very _wrong_.

“Oh,” Someone swore, but he couldn’t make out who through the sudden red haze that had slammed down around his eyes. “You _quiznak_ —“

“…I’m quite good at a few things pure-blooded Galra _can’t_ do, such as—" 

Shiro didn’t know how fast he’d gone, how he’d tossed Dansçı into a wall as he dashed forward. He barely heard the shouts of his friends calling for him to stop. He only knew when he felt his hands on the man’s clothing, felt the ground shake as Lotor’s back slammed into the windows.

“Oh?” Lotor-Keith blinked at his snarling. “Did I say something to upset you, oh great and powerful Shiro?”

“You are not Keith.” For one moment, Shiro wished his looks could kill, that this _boy_ could just evaporate into ashes. “You _are_ not _Keith_ —!”

“Shiro!”

“Tell me where he is,” Shiro pressed harder onto the glass, against Lotor-Keith’s chest, feeling ribs creak. “ ** _NOW!_** ”

“ _Shiro_ , don’t—“ Lance’s shouting was interrupted by a grunt. “Ugh, my leg…!”

“What? I was simply demonstrating.” Lotor-Keith was clearly enjoying the increasing anger Shiro was emanating. Why? What was it about Shiro that made him want to bait him. Whatever it was, it made Shiro want to hate him even more, even outside this. “I can’t do true shapeshifting, but I do have some helpful quintessence manipulation abilities. I _can_ make hair look more authentic if you’re _that_ offended by the incompleteness, you know.”

Shiro’s grip on his chest tightened. It resulted in a wheeze coming from the commander.

“Haaa, all right. I understand. I see you’re—ngh—not the type to joke around about your comrades.” The smile began to look pained. “But, Sh…Shiro, if you kill me, I can promise that you really _will_ never see your Red Paladin again. Your other friends certainly won’t be long for this universe, either.”

Shiro’s arms began to shake. He looked back towards his friends – again surrounded by Scholares and guards, guns drawn towards them – and back to Lotor-Keith, whose shut an eye as his grip kept up, unrelenting. This was the son of Zarkon. He was no doubt as monstrous and bloodthirsty as his father. 

As _he_ was capable of being, now, wasn’t it?

“Do you…ha, do you really want that on your conscience?”

Everyone was looking at him, weren’t they? He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, staring, _judging_ , and it didn’t matter, it was everyone, and surely it was obvious that this wasn’t Keith? He couldn’t be the only one who saw it, right? That this creature had _changed_ right before them? 

“…Tell me where the real Keith is,” Shiro growled. “And we won’t have to worry about it.”

There was silence once more. The Lotor-Keith simple closed its other eye.

“Very…mhn…well.” He took as deep a breath as he could. “Let me go. Board, open up communications to weapon cargo.”

Shiro nearly started when he heard the loud beep, and indeed dropped Lotor-Keith to the floor, allowing him to gasp. After several coughs, Lotor-Keith’s body shifted, until it was just Lotor, with no more Keith in him or on him. Still, Shiro didn’t take his eyes off the commander, in case he went impostor once more. He couldn’t take any chances.

He could change into anyone and Shiro would be the only one who could see through it.

“Mm.” Rubbing his chest, Lotor slowly stood up as a communications panel popped up in mid-air. “This is Lotor—“

An angry, deep female voice began booming through the link, somehow going too fast and angry for Shiro to really comprehend, even as he strained his ears.

“Oh, yes, of course, Zethrid, I’m all right. The situation is under control, you don’t need to come up here.” Lotor flipped his hair. “I just need you to open up a full visual of the weapon cargo bay for our…guest.”

A shocked string of sounds.

“Yes, I’m positive. Please do it.”

Instantly, the windows of the room blipped to life, obscuring the planet below. All around Shiro was a massive, near-panoramic look of a large group of Galra – all with darkened helmets on, all wearing bulky dark grey armor – walking around a large, smooth, metal ball, with four dark grey canisters attached to the sides. Walking over to the picture, Shiro’s eyes adjusted to the lights emanating from the room depicted in the feed, feeling a slight headache come on from the brightness.

Then he blinked, and then he saw it. The canister that was closest to the camera was filled with a light blue liquid, and there was something, unmoving, inside. Someone.

_Keith._

His hands were pressed against the windows, and he began to shake.

“Wh…” The world seemed to shrink all around him again as he heard himself speak; even his words seemed faint, echoed, distorted. “What is he doing down there?! What have you—”

“—is going to be helping me with an important task.” Lotor was speaking. Shiro hadn’t heard him start. What? “You see, the planet below us is Quarz IV, a world with a harsh environment and long history of…rebellion and sedition among its Galra inhabitants.”

“Well, good for them!”

“ _In spite_ of this,” Lotor cleared his throat as in in warning to Pidge’s outburst. “I offered amnesty for their surrender, in the hopes that the promise of better conditions under our rule would spur some meaningful dialogue. Our emissary was sent back without their arms or legs. It was…distressing. So more drastic measures will have to be taken.”

Shiro kept staring at Keith. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t even look alive. He looked more like a doll in water, and he _wasn’t moving_.

_“Ha…ha…ahaha!!”_

Back on the _İrem_. But that had been a lie, a dream, hadn’t it?

“The quintessence the…pirates nicknamed ‘The Blue’ is inside the bomb’s payload along with the outer canisters. Once it explodes, it will be enough to seed the entirety of the planet’s atmosphere with an unstable layer of radioactivity…the full-breed Galra population is very small, but they are the elite class. Their absence would cause chaos…”

But now he was dead, wasn’t he? Keith was…

“…willing to give them one more…but if they do not…”

“…you monster—“

Lance was right. Pidge was wrong. He was a monster. And everyone knew it now, didn’t they? _Didn’t they?_

He slowly stood up straight, his chest constricting, a loud ringing in his ears. He wasn’t listening to the conversation anymore. Instead, he let his tail fly.

“What the—“

He could feel it hit someone, something, could hear the window break, and the sputtering of the weapon cargo feed before revealing, once more the planet below. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see it fractured in the glass. A hundred pieces. 

“Shiro, _no_ —“

His next swing was aimed at the glass. His third, at the person talking. It may have been Hunk. It might have been Lance. He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t small enough to be Pidge. That was all he knew. That was all he could know, as everyone stared at him, their mouth open, blood pouring from their eyes and ears as he twisted their neck like a screw, threw them off of him, and then, _and then_ , he began to _laugh_ , and then Lotor began to _laugh_ and then—

_STOP!!_

This was wrong. All wrong. He laughed, and screamed, and laughed, and _screamed_ as he mowed through the guards that were in the room. They were easy to rip apart; they didn’t even beg for mercy as they stared at their dear Shiro with blankly dumbfounded expressions. Scholares. They scattered, instantly retreating from the room. A wise move. Even Dansçı seemed to float through the doors as they slid closed and locked tight, leaving Shiro alone with the mangled prince and what was left of his friends.

“Oh my god.” He shakily breathed in the scene, smelling all of the blood as it filled his nostrils. It smelled amazing, setting ablaze nerves that he didn’t even realize he had as his heart beat soared violently in his chest. “This is…wow.”

**_STOP!!_ **

They were going to find out, weren’t they? The reassurance had been a lie, hadn’t it? Katie had been so naïve. Keith was dead. His friends were on their way as well. He was the one killing them, after all.

Then he turned to face Hunk and Pidge, feeling trepidation as it washed over him from their position, pinned to the doors. Their eyes were wide, and the fear in Pidge’s eyes was especially palpable.

“This is bad…”

_Don’t do it!!_

He stepped forward. He was both in and out of control, watching himself stalk towards the two in a euphoric haze. He was seeing red, and he could do nothing to stop it. He was going to decorate the room with his friends – and whatever happened to be _in_ them.

“Hunk.” Pidge slowly moved behind Hunk. “ _Hunk_? What do we do now!?”

At this, Shiro’s eyes met Hunk’s. Something seemed to settle in the other – an emotion Shiro knew, right on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t identify. He continued forward, stalking them as if they didn’t see him coming. But, he wanted to make sure they saw him. Let it sink in before he destroyed them.

_God, please, no!!_

Then, after an eternal second, the Yellow Paladin squared his shoulders, his eyes staring down Shiro with that emotion he couldn’t identify. His expression became neutral, quiet.

“Just get behind me, Pidge.” Hunk was clearly making his voice as level as possible. “It’ll be over soon. Close your eyes…”

That was…resignation? Was it really? Was Hunk giving up, just like that?

“And—“

Didn’t matter. He didn’t finish his sentence. Hunk’s throat was gone, torn from his neck, before whatever he could say any more uplifting drivel to the final survivor. Ridiculous. Useless. What were words to him anymore? They were just sounds, maddening sounds that couldn’t quiet his body or his mind, everything was just so loud and it all hurt and his chest pounded like a sledgehammer and it rang in his ears. Rang like Pidge’s cry of shock.

Like her cry, turning into a terrified, choked scream.

“Sh—Shiro!” She was lifted up, so simply, so easily. She barely weighed anything at all. “Ngh— _NO!!_ ”

Shiro didn’t respond to her wails.

**_NO!!_ **

He screamed, but spoke no words, even as he felt the blood trickled down the back of his neck. Felt it trickle down onto his cheek, down into his eyes as he tightened his grip around her throat. Tighter and tighter until he heard a crack, and blood gushed all over his face. His heart pounded.

Pidge’s head became limp as she let out one final scream.

“ ** _SHIRO!!_** ”

He gasped as his eyes flew open. His hand shot up and out, landing on nothing but thin air. He stared at the ceiling, his sight unfocused, unclear. Where was he? Wait – was he laying down?

How did he get on the ground?

“Shiro?!”

Hunk’s voice sounded like it was coming from a Styrofoam cup. But that was impossible. He was dead. Hunk was dead and he killed him— _he’d taken a bite and then_ —

“Shiro.” A hand was pressed onto his neck. “You need to calm down. Please. We’re here, ok? We’re here.”

He attempted to sit up, and was met with the ceiling spinning on him. The hand moved from his neck, and began to push against his chest. Shiro, however, shook his head, and grabbed the hand.

“No. N—” If Hunk pushed him, made him angry, then what he saw would become real if it already wasn’t. “ _No!_ ”

“Hunk?” Pidge’s voice. It lacked the fear he so clearly remembered, could feel even now, and as the seconds passed, the treble of her tone began to change into something clearer. “Please tell me he’s ok.”

“It’s…” He could feel Hunk hesitate. “This isn’t the first time this has happened with me around.”

“Yeah, I mean—“ _Lance._ Lance too? They were all really alive? “It happened with us, too, but when Haggar was around…”

“And she wasn’t when I was there…”

“This is not good…”

“We have to do _something_ …”

 _Do something._ The words echoed in Shiro’s mind, as he began to zone out again, as he felt the voices start to coalesce into a foggy cacophony of nonsense again. _Do something. This is wrong, this is all wrong, please prove this is all wrong. I would never hurt people like that, never like that, I help people. I’m not Zarkon, I’m…my name is—_

“Woah, woah.” He heard a voice again through the fog. Tüylü. Even they sounded concerned. “Why is Shiro looking so pale? Is…do I need to get—“

“No.” Lance’s voice was flat. “Don’t get anyone. You guys've done more than enough to him.”

“What does _that_ mean, fake Paladin?”

“I mean, he wouldn’t _be_ here like this if it weren’t for _all of you_ …!”

Lance’s voice turned away, raising, and Shiro instantly shut his eyes. No, no, if they argued he would get angry and if he got angry, things would get bad. Very bad. If they weren’t already. He should have been able to stand on his own, but now he couldn’t. All wrong. Everything…

“Shiro?” Hunk’s voice came through again. He felt someone’s hand under his head, small as it was. “I’m gonna sit you upright. You’re…you’re going to…it’s me, Hunk. Relax, don’t say anything, and look at me. You know who I am, right?”

Slowly, Shiro opened his eyes again, his eyes struggling to focus again. He sees the ceiling – he was pretty sure, the more he thought (even as he felt thoughts slip), that he was back in that bedroom again.  That maybe he’d changed again, even beyond what Lotor had thought. His back felt different, more rigid and his torso felt _tight_. He felt something on the back of his neck, above where the collar was. Another set of scales might have grown in. He may have gotten even taller.

Because he wasn’t tall or Zarkon-esque _enough_ before.

“…Ye…yes.” It took some time, but he finally spoke. His chest also hurt as he tried to move, more so when he tensed up at Hunk’s gentle guiding, shooting up to his head and ears. “Hunk, I’m—you don’t—you’re _alive_.”

“I am.”

“What happe—“

“It passed. Don’t worry about it right now.” Hunk’s voice was soft, but Shiro shook his head, trying to open his mouth again, trying to get answers that were slipping from his grasp. “We’re going to get you out of here, ok? No matter how we have to do it, we’re _not_ going to let this continue now that we know what Lotor’s planning. Any of it.”

“Get Shiro out!?” And there was the indignant anger coming from the ensign; he could hear the Heretic hum to life in their hands. “You’re going to—how _could_ you!? You fake Paladins really do want to destroy the Galra Empire’s greatest hope of—“

“Oh, come off it!” He turned to see the ensign wince – fear in their eyes, like Pidge – and yet Pidge (Pidge was still alive, she was ok, _she was ok_ ) stomped towards them at that very moment. “If you really cared for Shiro, you’d see he’s not doing good at all! Were you paying _any_ attention to what happened when we met your boss!?”

What happened? What happened. He’d killed everyone. No, he didn’t. Yes, he did. _No,_ he _didn’t_ —

“He doesn’t need this ridiculous undying devotion you pretend to have for him,” He felt his break shake unevenly as Pidge continued. “He needs a real doctor! A healing pod! You know, _actual_ medical attention!”

Not good. All wrong. What _was_ wrong with him, aside from _everything_?

“But...but he can get that here!” Even as Tüylü backed away from Pidge. Good idea. “Our medical equipment can help him, he doesn’t need to be _stolen_ from us—“

“And in order to have him use that equipment, you’d have to take the _actual_ Zarkon off of his life support systems because that’s what all the medical bay power’s been diverted to.” They were cut off flatly by the Green Paladin. “Right? Face it, you can play the sycophant all you want, but if you really want to help and this isn’t just you play acting because of whatever Lotor told you? You would help us.”

The guard looked at Shiro, then at the paladins, then back at Shiro.

“I…” Their voice faltered. “I can’t just let you take them. I must protect Shiro. Shiro’s health is important as well. If it’s really as bad as you say it is…”

“It is.”

“…But Commander Lotor!” Just as quickly, Tüylü shook their head. “I can’t simply disobey him! He wants Shiro to be on this ship.”

“So he can watch a planet of innocents to be blown up.”

Lance shook his head as he spoke before Shiro could open his mouth to respond. As if they – as if he, Shiro –  hadn’t been in the room when Lotor explained it. Yet…wait, had that been what Lotor was planning with Keith and the bomb—

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“But…” Tüylü faltered. “But Quarz IV is plotting against Lotor, against Zarkon,  _Shiro_. Lotor doesn’t like it, but that has to be addressed for everyone’s safety!”

“So by that logic,” Pidge countered before Shiro could open his mouth to respond himself. “You’re telling me that Lotor brought Shiro to a planet _full_ of dangerous and crazy traitors that already chopped off the limbs of someone who annoyed them. And that guy wasn’t Shiro. So when their planet gets hit by this bomb, and wouldn’t have a problem coming after this ship _o_ r Shiro the moment they put two and two together if any of them survive or have families on other planets.”

“I…”

“And, you know, they’ll try to kill him.”

“But…!”

“Pidge's right. And trust us.” Lance leveled another, more glaring look. “They _will_ come after him until he’s dead. We may be no-good fake Paladins, but we know about how a little determination goes a long way to destroying someone that’s been threatening others. The proof’s in the medical bay if you don’t believe us.”

That left Tüylü sputtering, and Shiro frowning. Almost seething. Why couldn’t he control this? Control Tüylü? Control _himself_? He wasn’t Zarkon, but he was, he _was_ and he should be able to—

“Let me out.” He finally croaked, attempting to stand up. This time Hunk didn’t impede him, instead looking at him with eyes that betrayed the depths of his concern. “Now.”

He took a deep breath; his chest was on fire. His head hurt. Nothing felt right at all, not even Hunk’s hands coming back onto his shoulder. All of the colors seemed muted in the room, as if drained by unseen hands. His own friends didn’t look right as they all _stared_ at him. Their eyes seemed to glow in the light as he stared back, unable to look away.

Was it a trick of the mind? Was Haggar still here? Even after Lotor, could she still be in his mind? In _their_ minds? Watching, waiting for the chance to strike? Wait—what if…

What if everything he had seen _was_ because of Haggar? His friends’ blood on his hands…had he pondered that before? Or…wait, the argument _felt_ familiar, but—his mind, she had _said_ it was still changing. So he recalled.

He didn’t know. Anything was possible, and all of it was wrong.

“Please.”

Tüylü’s breath became erratic.

“ _Please!_ ” His voice became sharp. Angry. No – desperate. Both. “ ** _PLEASE!!_** ”

Everyone winced, no matter who they were. What they were. Tüylü almost seemed to shrink at the order, and they looked down, their eyes wide.

“…I—”

Their head suddenly snapped up towards the door, their mouth instantly closing as the door opened. A faint hum filled the air, and Shiro’s eyes twitched at the sight changing before him.

“Ensign.”

Two guards that Shiro didn’t recall seeing before walked in, pushing a small orb in front of them with a strange, tong-like device. Both seemed to wear something that looked like headphones strapped over their helmets; both of their voices were hollow and unemotional.

“Your shift’s over. We’ll take care of Shiro for right now. You need to return the Paladins to their cells.”

“I…” Tüylü blinked, shaking their head in confusion. “I was never given updated orders from the commander. Are you sure?”

Lance was staring at the orb. Pidge was looking back and forth from Lance to the orb; Hunk was still behind him. Shiro knew there was more to it, there had to be, as Lance looked very…very…worried.

The hum began to change slowly building as it reached his ears. Shiro closed his eyes. It wasn’t there. It was just him. Just him. Maybe just his hearing picking…something up.

“That doesn't matter. Your shift’s over.” The guard seemed insistent. Commanding, brooking no argument. Almost hypnotizing. “We’ll take care of Shiro for right now. You need to return the Paladins to their cells. Now.”

Getting stronger. The hum became a buzzing sound. Shiro felt his concentration, already rattled and frayed, begin to slip further.

“Comply…” Tüylü’s hand went to their temple. Their resolve seemed to crumble all too quickly. “I…comply…?”

“Now.” The guards’ voices repeated, over and over, the last words. “Now.”

 _Hard to think._ _What is this sound. What. What do you want from us._

Shiro shut his eyes, but the buzz became louder, pounding into his head.

“Now.”

 _What do you_ want _from me._

He barely felt his hands grabbing his head, nor could he hear the strangled cry from his throat as he slipped further and further into another abyss. This time, though, it was all just buzzing, like angry bees that didn’t sting to hurt their victim, but instead vibrated their wings until one’s ears exploded from the pitch. Like a hammer to the temples.

Shiro stumbled through his already beleaguered mind for anything to stem the tide.

_What. What._

_My name…_

It was starting to lose meaning. Everything was because of the buzzing. So much noise, so much…

… _Vicuña_?

It was the only word he could concentrate on. Of course. The memory he recovered in this place, so now it was the first thing that came to mind. He grabbed and held on with his monstrous claws as hard and as long as he could. The buzzing began to overwhelm him beyond what he could manage, beyond his own sense of self or willpower.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t care.

“… ** _SHIRO_**!”

He only just barely heard the loud _bang_ , before – once again, always, why was he _losing himself so much so often so fast now_ \- he knew nothing more.


	10. Karışıklık

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those Bangs and Flashes and perhaps a collection of things are coming soon. You shall see what I've been doing with my time that didn't involve working on this fanfiction. 
> 
> Thankfully, I'm still working on this - it's just hard to put exactly what is in my mind down onto paper. But, I think the hardest part is over. Mostly. For now, enjoy.

It felt like an eternity before Shiro opened his eyes.

A Blade mask stared back down at him through his left eye, all askew, a bright light obscuring everything else above him in his right eye. A distant beeping sound echoed in the distance; his torso faintly stung of a pain from a wound he couldn’t describe or remember receiving. At least, not at that moment.

His memory had become so terrible since going into space, and it was getting steadily worse. He realized his mind was incredibly unreliable. Dangerous. Worthless. He almost felt something flutter in him as if to respond to those thoughts, but it was a feeling that was soon gone.

He didn’t blink, or wince, as he stared up. It was too much. He had no strength. Everything in his body no longer felt like they belonged to him, perhaps rightly so. He wasn’t staying long, anyways. He was too dangerous.

Too wrong, too wrong. Broken soldier. That was Shiro, now, shattered beyond repair.

“Paladin.”

The light moved, obscuring the figure on his left. There were two other figures above him, one of the controlling the light. The other, more distant third figure, was staring at him, he could feel it, seeing everything malodorous about him laid plain and bare. There was a fourth figure, even more distant, its mouth moving, making strange motions as if breathing heavily. As if being restrained. It sounded feminine.

They didn’t speak save for the Blade mask. They didn’t need to.

“Can you hear me?”

He knew the name of the speaker. He knew the voice. But Shiro didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He knew where he was at this precise moment. He was back on the _İrem_ again.

He didn’t belong here. He had to get out of here, before it was too late for everyone - before he destroyed them all once more.

The voice became muted, and the mask turned towards the third figure, who responded with abrupt movements of worry.  They began to descend on him, gently pushing the figure holding the light out of the way, until the figure’s silhouette plunged Shiro back into darkness. Back into the oblivion, before—

“Shiro, hm?”

That voice. It sounded familiar. The _İrem_. He heard that voice on the _İrem_. Always back on the _İrem_ , always going back there, _always_ …he felt his panic spike, just a little, and he tried to catch a breath.

The response was liquid filling his lungs and nostrils. Cold breathing liquid, freezing him solid.

“Interesting. Of all the things to fall into my lap…” Though he couldn’t see, he could hear, even muffled. Could hear the wheels turning in the tone of the figure, who should have been dead, but clearly wasn’t. Or was he? He could swear someone had killed him. “Jabon, does his profile match the intel we got?”

“Yes, sir, this is the one detailed in the information we stole.”

_Can’t move. Can’t move. I need to move._

“…Set a course for Tersane…”

Then the voice turned into nothing but buzzing, more buzzing, and Shiro found his breathing becoming increasingly panicked. What was happening? Where was he?

“Shiro.”

 _What_ was he, to be going from one place to another? What reason was there for it? It couldn’t still be Haggar, could it? It couldn’t be. She was gone, vanished at the order of the prince. His _son_ , only not.

His breath began to quicken again. So then—

“ _Shiro_!”

The next thing Shiro knew, he was being pulled off an unconscious guard’s vomit-crusted body, a stream of blue and bile dripping from his mouth. He let out deep gasps, clawing for breath that suddenly became elusive, his hands grasping for his throat. Like a pillow covering his face.

“Shiro? Shiro.” A man’s voice – wait, no, that was Lance’s voice - barely registered as he felt strong, beefy arms tightly wind around his stomach. “C’mon, buddy. It’s over.”

Shiro didn’t believe him. It wasn’t. He was still here, on the _İrem_. No, not the _İrem_. Yes, the _İrem_. The _Kan Tarlası_. He didn’t know anymore. Maybe it never mattered.

“Deep breaths, ok?”

Still, he found himself weakened by the firmness in Lance’s voice, and someone else’s unyielding physical hold. The latter, in particular, felt like the only real thing around him at that moment. Who held people like that?

Hunk. It was Hunk. He grabbed onto the name as hard as he could.

“Focus on me, I’ll count to ten. Ok? One, two…”

“I…” _Can’t_. “I…”

“Three, four…come on, Shiro, you got this.” Lance’s voice became gentle. “Slow down a bit. Five, six…”

Shiro closed his eyes again. This wasn’t going to work. Even with his friends helping him, even with his mind finally supplying their names again, he knew it wouldn’t work. Not now, and likely not anymore.

“And again. One, two…”

“Lance, do we have time to—”

“Three…”

“Never mind, you’re going to ignore me.”

“ _Pidge_.” Hunk’s voice finally permeated. “Okay, his breathing’s starting to level out. Keep going, Lance!”

“Four, five, six…”

 _Was_ it working? Shiro couldn’t tell. He was normally the one doing it for others. At least, he used to be, before he found himself on the _İrem_. He couldn’t escape the _İrem_ no matter what he did. Just as he couldn’t escape being Champion – being Zarkon. Being _Shiro_. It made him sick.

He wanted to throw up again. He was certain that he’d thrown up on the guard, though he didn’t remember doing it. He remembered shouting, and buzzing, and slipping. His concentration had always been a point of pride for him, but now? Now he found himself struggling in such a short time. It made no sense, yet that was precisely what was happening. It almost felt like it had always been that way, and Shiro found it harder to ignore that gnawing feeling that he would go further still.

Always slipping, always falling into blackness. More and more, until…wait.

_Black._

His eyes began to focus on the unconscious guard below him. His vomit had black spots in them. He could swear he saw one, two, three of them moving, flitting, twitching. Dying. His insides were coming alive now, and attacking—

“Lance.” He heard Pidge gasp, a sound followed by the clicking of a Heretic being re-cocked. “Those are—”

“Yup.” Lance sighed. “Those weird flea things. The minute that thing came in, I knew exactly what was in it.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re such a good shot, man. I was starting to fall asleep!”

Shiro felt Hunk’s arms start to slip back around him as Pidge replied. He gently shoved them away, shaking his head. He couldn’t be _this_ weak, could he? Not when he had to get them out of there. Not when he had to save Keith. He had to hold on. He had to save them all. Somehow.

“I…no.” His voice was raspy, and he still could taste the nasty remnants of his previous meal in his mouth. Still, his voice somehow managed to boom, command attention, and he could feel Hunk’s second attempt to grab him halt at the sound. “Hunk. _No._ Everyone, we…we have to—”

He stopped when he saw Pidge and Lance looking at him like he was growing two heads. Was it something he said? Was he changing more? Maybe that was the churning in his stomach, or the ever-increasing pounding in his chest that threatened to make him pass out once more. But he couldn’t let that happen again.

“…What…what is it?” Shiro gulped down the feeling of wanting to throw up. “Pidge?”

“Oh my god.” Pidge’s voice cracked. “That’s…that’s not good. He…Shiro, you just—”

“What? What did I do?!”

“Shiro…” Pidge’s face was scaring him. Infuriating him. She was upset, and clearly knew something he didn’t. “Can _you_ understand _me_?”

“What!?" Shiro's voice rose at the utterly _stupid_ question. "What do you mean by that!?”

Pidge winced at that last, sharp, borderline panicked bark coming from Shiro’s mouth, and she didn’t respond. Hesitated, even.

 _What wasn’t good_? _Why are you asking me if I can understand you?!_ Shiro let out a growl, unable to contain his frustration anymore. _Tell me what is wrong!_

“Hey, Shiro.” Hunk tried one more time to take Shiro’s arm, and was more forcefully rebuffed. “Shiro? It’s ok, I know this is bad, but—”

“STOP IT! JUST _TELL_ ME WHAT IS _HAPPENING_!!”

He finally just snapped back. He didn’t need to be coddled. He needed to get everyone out of here before he did somethi—before _they got hurt_. He couldn’t be calm, not right now, even though he knew patience bred focus, and he felt the absolutely opposite of focused. On the other hand, patience was not his strong suit right now, and with the unconscious guards around them, time suddenly became a luxury they didn’t have.

He didn’t know what time it was, either.

“…I’m _fine_. Keith.” He breathed deeply. “Find…Keith. We…get him. Then leave.”

His friends still looked at him like he’d changed again. The small one, especially, looked scared.

“…Whatever that just was aside…I think I know what we need to do.” Hunk went to grab Shiro’s arm as Lance spoke. Shiro pulled it away again, growling louder. What did Lance mean, ‘whatever that was’? He was pretty sure he was still speaking…he was speaking to them...understandingly? Was that the word? “We need a way off the ship, now. Grab their guns if you can.”

Shiro didn’t get a chance to grab anything before Pidge and Hunk did. His eyes went over towards Lance, to find he had a Heretic in his hands as well. Licking his lips, Lance tried to smile; Shiro didn’t reciprocate. He didn’t know how Lance got that gun.

At least, he didn’t until Hunk bent down behind Lance and hoisted Tuylu over his shoulder.

“…Hostage.” Something in Shiro’s mind clicked, and he couldn't help but grumble his approval. He certainly hadn’t thought of it. “Good idea.”

The smile on Lance’s face faltered at the response, though only for a moment.

“…Ok. Hostage. Shiro, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

“—Shiro.” Pidge’s voice came bluntly from the doorway. “Nod your head if you understand us.”

Shiro’s head turned to her, and he nodded. Naturally. He could understand them perfectly, and given the circumstances, he wasn’t sure why they were stopping to ask him. They _could_ understand him perfectly fine, right?

“…Ok.” Pidge’s look seemed to indicate otherwise. “I don’t want to panic you, Shiro, but you just had an…aphasic spasm? The best way I can describe it? You have literally been saying garbage language for the last several doboshes.”

 _No._ His mind quickly supplied denial. _I wasn’t._

“It was gibberish.”

_No, it wasn’t!_

“Um…speaking of gibberish!” Shiro felt Lance start pushing him. “Why are we still standing here talking!? Hunk, take the flank! I got the front. We need to figure out how to get these collars off, then find Keith, then get out while making sure Shiro doesn’t, you know, keel over or something—”

 _I’m_ not _speaking gibberish. I wasn’t!_

Shiro didn’t even resist as Lance shoved him out of the room, nevertheless. He should have. He should have stood up for himself. Yet some part of him just laughed at him, as if it knew. Because of course it knew. He was Zarkon, and thus the enemy. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t going to be helpful anymore. Though if that was the case, why did they still help him?

He faintly remembered being punched at that moment, someone yelling at him. It felt like that moment of affirmation had happened to another person, a lifetime ago. It might have. He certainly remembered killing everyone in the room more vividly at that moment, than the faint words of forgiveness from a face that might have been Pidge’s. Pidge’s? Maybe. He wasn’t so sure.

In any case, his thoughts were interrupted by shouts.

“The Paladins!”

“Shiro!! Quick—”

Shots began to zip by his shoulders, and suddenly, he was elsewhere.

“Prisoner 117-9875.”

He was staring at the opened doorway to the Arena, and the sentries, in front of him. There was no one else around him, save the sentries.

“Down.” He felt someone push him to the floor; his hands instantly go behind his back in an act of second nature, waiting for the cuffs to slip onto his wrists. For some reason, they never came. “Get down!”

Then came the shots. Were they attacking something in the Arena? Or weakening it for him, to level the playing field. But that wouldn’t be entertaining, would it? Them, shooting his opponent, while he just sat there? Besides, he didn’t feel cuffs being placed on him, so maybe they intended him to fight whatever was in the Arena bare-handed.

_This is my fight._

He stood up, and charged.

“Shiro—!?”

He ignored the shout, instead focusing on the problem in front of him. The figures in front of him weren’t monsters; they looked to be sentries as well. Perhaps they were disgraced military made to fight him. Maybe they were robots designed to test his prowess once more. Regardless, he knew they had to be stopped before he was killed.

“Shiro! Halt! Ha—?!”

He ran to the wall, letting his more long-suppressed instincts of fighting out. His intention was to jump off the wall and into the robots. He hadn’t anticipated actually running up and on the side of the wall. Yet that was exactly what he did, his tail waving back and forth as an anchor to keep him balanced even as he seemingly defied gravity.

His prey was too stunned to fight back as he smashed into them. Grabbing one by the throat with ease, he tossed them into the others, sending all of them flying to the floor. When one attempted to get back up, he stomped on their chest, hearing a very telltale and satisfying crack.

He took a deep breath, then wobbled as he blinked. He wasn’t in the Arena anymore, and there was a gasping guard beneath his massive feet.

“Shiro…” The guard wheezed with a feminine voice. “Mercy…mercy…please, _no_!”

He should have kept pressing, and harder than before. His mind wanted him to. His boiling anger and displacing confusion wanted him to.  He could have. This was one of Lotor’s guards, after all. Another cog in the Galra Empire. Another head of the alien hydra cut off, only to be replaced by two more, just as blind, just as fanatical to their Holy Zarkon and the destruction of the universe.

Just as terrible as him.

Yet he didn’t finish the job. For just a second, he could swear he heard Keith’s voice pleading with him beneath his feet. Heard his own laughter as he once more ripped his friend – his brother – apart. And in that second, he felt a sting in his calf that forced him to stagger back, a hiss on his lips.

Gasping for air, the guard released their grip on the…the…pointy…thing (it had a name, _why was it suddenly slipping from him_ ) now embedded in Shiro, and began dragging themselves away. They barely went ten seconds before they collapsed, unconscious, on the metal floor.

“Shiro!” He heard Lance’s voice as a hand went onto his arm. “Come on, the elevator’s…!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance gasp as his hand went to the pointy thing.

“No! Wait! Don’t touch it!” Only to be pulled away by Hunk. “Not yet! We don’t know if he’ll bleed out! And with what just happened with his speech—”

 _My speech,_ Shiro felt his lip curl just slightly. _Is fine—!_

“Yeah, ok.” From somewhere behind him, Pidge huffed. “Sure, leave a weapon in Shiro that can be ripped out and used by someone else.”

“That’s not—” Hunk stammered, before shaking his head. “Bakıcı can dress it properly. She’s a certified nurse for the Galra. We need to free her.”

Shiro looked over at Hunk, slightly stunned. He was fine, they didn’t need to keep fawning over him like the Galra seemed to, and then there was the matter of finding Keith. They had to rescue Keith. If he was still tied to that bomb when it was dropped, who knew what he would do—

 _No._ He shut his eyes. Voltron saved everyone. Voltron saved the innocent. Bakıcı was an innocent who did nothing wrong. Thus, Bakıcı had to be saved. He was just being selfish right now, thinking he was strong. He was just thinking stupid because of the ridiculous Galra body he was in. That had to be it.

“…Shiro.” His expression must have betrayed him, as Hunk’s voice was almost pleading. “I know we need to rescue Keith, too. But you’re injured. If you bleed out in your current condition—”

“I’m fine.” Shiro shook his head. “Keep the…”

_What is it called!? Small, sharp, pointy—_

“…Keep it in me,” he managed, shaking his head. “I’ll be ok.”

“…Ok, got it.” There was relief in Pidge’s voice, despite her clear concern. “Looks like the spasm’s starting to pass. I actually got what you were saying!”

 _No, no, no!_ Shiro’s mind protested. _There was no spasm, I was fine, I_ am _fine!_

“For now.” Lance backed away. “Come on, let’s just get Bakıcı, then Keith, then de-activate these collars before—”

An unbearably high-pitched squeaking suddenly emanated through the halls. Shiro’s hands instantly went to his ears with a howl. It rattled his already screaming mind and body, all the way down to his bones. The others, meanwhile, seemed shocked, yet not in pain as he was.

“Oh…shoot!!” Shiro barely felt the pushing on his lower back even as pain shot from his ears to his brain and down to his toes once more. “Come on, hurry, we have to hurry.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed before the doors to the lift closed in front of him. Once they did, however, the sound – and the pain – lessened considerably. His eyes focused, and he found his hand being held by Pidge like a vice.

“We’ve got you, Shiro.” She was taking deep breaths, and he noticed a gash on her shoulder. “We’ll get you out of here. You, and Bakıcı, and Keith.”

_Keith._

When Keith had been a Galra, he had been accepting of his fate as to what he was. Quiet. He’d not seemed disquieted with his own transformation, even though it had hurt him physically and emotionally. Meanwhile, Shiro, his leader, his brother was handling it the exact opposite. On the contrary, Shiro could still feel his heart beat far too fast, could feel his head swimming, could feel time and space simply continue to deceive him as to what exactly was happening, and how long it was happening.

He tried to walk once the lift opened, revealing the prisoner hold once more, and found himself staring at a half-dozen more Galra soldiers. He let out an angry growl.

“Shiro! No!” The Heretics began to hum. “Don’t come closer! We do _not_ wish to harm you—”

“Open the cell doors and you won’t have to!”

Had he been himself – truly been himself, and things hadn’t been so wrong – Shiro might have appreciated the strategy Lance had caught onto. He was Zarkon, thus hurting him would be akin to blasphemy. However, Shiro’s thoughts barely touched on what was happening. They could barely touch on anything. Instead, the guards were scattered in different directions as he simply smashed through them, his Galra arm (all of him was Galra, what did it matter which arm it was now that he actually used?) grabbing onto a door, ripping it right off like a pile of tin foil.

Inside was a couple of strange, shriveled beasts, staring back with bulging eyes. Shiro felt his face blanch at the sight, an urge to hurt humming in his muscles, to erase such things from the universe. They looked like experiments. Abominations.

_Like me._

One of them opened its gummed mouth and began to shriek.

Suddenly, Shiro was back on the Castle of Lions. His hand was swinging towards a glass pane, and Sendak was laughing at his screams, at his torment, at his weakness. As he broke, and was broken, and would _keep breaking_ , killing everything that made him sad, or angry, or scared. It was what he was, what he would always be, now—

“SHIRO!”

And once more, he was back on the _Kan Tarlası_ , Lance’s voice once more piercing through his fugue, and Hunk’s arms around his in a tight lock despite the height disparity. Shiro was staring at the disfigured creature once more, which let out a drooling, warbled whine. Its gnarled hand was ineffectively flailing left and right, as if expecting the blow to still be an inevitability.

No, no, he’d _just_ been on the Castle, _he’d just been_ —

“…Come on, Shiro.” Lance’s voice faded in and out as he kept staring. “You’re here, we’re here, don’t attack them. They’re not going to hurt you. Ok? They can’t hurt you!”

Shiro begged to differ, but could only shake his head. He had to kill it. He had to. It was all he was good fo—

“Hey!” Pidge’s voice cut through this time. “Hey, Shiro. Shiro. Can you understand me?”

Shiro frowned at this, wanting to argue that it had never been a problem, that he’d never been misunderstood, that nothing was wrong. Even when he himself knew without knowing the how, that it was a lie. Still, he nodded.

“I think what’s-her-face is in the cell to the right of us.” He felt a small and light – shaky – hand on his hip. “You don’t have to worry about these guys, ok? We’ll take care of them. You get her, and then we’ll get Keith.”

_Keith!_

He could hold onto that. It was one thing he was absolutely certain about when everything else was working against him. When _he_ was working against him, most of all.

“Where.” There was his voice. “Where’s Keith.”

“The weapons cargo bay.” Hunk’s voice came through, quiet and steady as a rock. “Remember? He’s there. We’ll get him. I _promise_.”

Somehow, this calmed Shiro down further, and he forced himself to focus. Keith. Get Keith, then get his crew out. He closed his eyes, and he could hear voices around him.

Heard Allura again.

_Keep him steady…we need to keep him—_

He grabbed at the wall to steady himself as he staggered from the cell, taking himself next door. The door to Bakıcı’s cell easily gave way under his hands.

“Oh…!” Instantly, Bakıcı’s head was down, and she was about to kneel. “Oh no, _you_ —”

“Hey now.” Only to have Lance hold her up. “No bowing, we’ve got no time for that! You know how to get to the weapons, right?”

“…Sure.” She still didn’t look at Shiro. “Where are they? The twins?”

“Next cell over,” Hunk offered. “They can come with us if you want. We can put Tuylu in here, too. Out of the way.”

“…And then, you’re going to save Kılıç.” Bakıcı looked instead at Hunk. “To save Keith.”

“That’s right.” Hunk smiled. “To save Keith.”

Bakıcı was silent for a moment, before – to Shiro’s shock – she looked up to stare at him in the eye.

“…Admiral Otac is dead because of your existence.” Her voice is firm as she spoke. “If Keith, or the twins, or _anyone_ else, dies - I’m holding you responsible for that as well.”

Shiro swallowed dryly, his head pounding. It was clear she was only talking to him. She wouldn’t be the only one to blame him if that came to pass, at least.

“We’ll…” He found himself struggling to speak again, gulping in air. “We’ll get Keith. Then, we’ll be gone.”

Lance looked away from him at this, nodding to Pidge as she was furiously banging on a wall panel across from the cells.

“I won’t…let anyone else be hurt.”

 _Just a little longer._ He could hear Allura again, on his side. He began to breathe erratically, a sharp spike of pain suddenly exploding through his chest. _We just need to have him hang on a little longer, keep going, and then—!_

The ceiling changed. It wasn’t the _Kan Tarlası_. Not anymore. He tried to move his eyes to look around, to try to understand where he was, but he couldn’t. He tried to scream, but he still couldn’t. He was trapped.

“And then what?”

Shiro felt himself stiffen as another, more familiar, voice came through in his other ear. It sounded tired, deeper, rough, but he would know that voice anywhere.

_Keith’s here? How?_

“Just hooking him up to a filter won’t magically make him better, you know that.”

“I know that…” Allura’s voice choked. “This…this is my fault. I should have been more rational, when I saw, if I hadn’t—”

“No.” Keith’s voice sharpened. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Allura. You didn’t know! What happened…”

“He’s right.” An unfamiliar male voice echoed through both ears. “Your actions wouldn’t have made a true difference; the damage was already done beforehand by…well. What we’re about to get into.”

A faint silhouette hovered over Shiro’s face.

“We can mitigate things, though, lessen the long-term effects, and save his mind and body if we act quickly.”

“Whatever we need to do,” The silhouette hovered closer, darker, until it completely covered Shiro’s entire field of vision. “We’ll do it. Tell us what it is you need to do…”

Everything blurred. Then, a bright light. His breath began to quicken as he realized he couldn’t move to reassure those he was certain he knew, or to stop whoever he didn’t that kept coming at him.

“…Unfortunately, for this, because of all that’s been pumped into him, we can’t anesthetize him.” Shiro tried to scream as he heard a whirring sound, but nothing came out of his throat. Powerless, again, as he was strapped to a table, unknown faces looking on. “We’ll have to hope he won’t react too violently to this… hold him if you have to…!” 

A loud slam came from Pidge’s direction, and his voice returned as he let out a scream. A sentry flew across the room as he let go, crashing into the furthest wall on the other side. _Kan Tarlası_. He was back there again. He’d never left, had he?

“Shiro? Earth to Shiro?! Or…wherever we are!!?”

“…Quarz IV.” He licked his lips, everything around him blurred and almost neon as he blinked. Her heart never quieted; if anything it seemed to worsen. “We’re…near Quarz IV.”

“Yes.” Another voice suddenly piped up. “We’re orbiting Quarz IV. Feel free to keep up with us, Shiro…and as I already said I _don’t_ know what fleas you’re talking about, Paladin.”

Shiro’s head snapped towards the voice. It was Lotor, along with four others in similar garb as he – all female - have their Heretics pointed at Shiro and the Paladins. Behind them was the bomb. And _Keith_  inside. He could just see Keith's chest rising up and down, slowly.

He was alive. At last—

But _how_ did he get to the weapons cargo bay? He didn’t remember anyone getting there, much less how he got out of the cells. Who he encountered. Who he _hurt_. He…he didn’t remember much of anything. He didn’t remember. His chest _hurt_. His left arm hurt – there was a large gash he didn’t remember getting.

“I prefer a _less_ ridiculous approach to ensuring cooperation from others, after all.”

Shiro took in a deep breath to try and ignore the increasing pain, as well as the gun pressed to his upper back.

“Shiro. You can end this now, you know. Peacefully.” Lotor calmly, to his surprise, holstered his Heretic. “Surrender yourself back to me, and your Paladins will remain unharmed for as long as you work with me.”

“Never.”

“Are you certain? You are hardly in a condition to fight, Shiro, much less escape.”

“The heck I’m not.”

“The quintessence in your body is highly unstable.” Lotor’s eyes looked over at the Paladins, Pidge in particular. “ _You_ seem smart enough to know that of all this lot. Without my or even that witch’s help to re-orient his biology to his true self? No matter how strong he is right now, he’ll die eventually unless he does what I ask him. So, how long do you think he has at this point?”

Pidge simply glared back at him, her lip shaking just slightly at the question.

“Hm.” Lotor looked back at Shiro. “I don’t exactly know how you all escaped your rooms, and you did all right getting here. Given your condition, your determination is admirable…foolish, but admirable. But it’s _over_. Your little attempt ends here. And you _will_ cooperate with me, both here with Quarz IV and anything else I ask of you."

Shiro’s fists began to shake. He should move. He should move and break Lotor’s face, shatter his back and snap his neck. He hated him. He hated Lotor. He hated Lotor and it terrified him and he found he couldn’t move.

“Refusing will only ensure everyone’s demise. Yours, especially” At Shiro’s hesitation, Lotor nodded to his guards. “Zethrid, re-secure the prisoners. Axca, make contact with the planet and—”

The ship started to shake.

“Hmm?”

The ship suddenly shook again with a loud _BANG_ , this time throwing everyone down, including Shiro. He first heard the laser being shot, then a cursing of whoever had held the gun to his back as they tumbled away. Then, something _smashed_ into the back of his head, and he let out a gasp as the wind was knocked out of him. Heretics showered over him, several smacking into his jaw, as he rolled around and was at last halted in his momentum by a large metal box.

“Ezor…Ezor…” He could barely hear the prince's shouting through the liquid and pounding building in his ears and mouth. “...statio…he paladi…!”

That was when he – faintly – heard a familiar sound, as it suddenly echoed through the room. A loud crackle, like radio static. He shut his eyes tight, feeling his head throb violently as he tried to turn his head to the side. Warm blood dripped out of his orifices as, suddenly, he heard voices start to speak, loud and clear, through the ship’s audio system.

“ **This is the Bla—** ” An angry-sounding, gruff male voice. A familiar one, a Galra one, which suddenly squeaked with surprise. “ **Wh-what are you-!?** ”

“ **GIMME!** ” There was a change to another familiar voice. This time, it was older, raspy female Galra. “ **It’s my turn to talk!** ”

Shiro knew those voices. He didn’t know them. No, he had to—

“ **What are you doing!?** ” The male voice was far more distant the next time it started speaking. “ **This is not a game, there are hostages on board!** "

“ **Oh, believe me, I know! You just sit down and let me handle this—** ”

Another _BANG_. Those who had started getting to their feet were again thrown to the floor. Lance’s yelp was followed by a grunt from Pidge; Hunk seemed to be down on his side, slightly dazed from the impact. Shiro, for his part, mustered himself, and began to crawl as quickly as he could towards the bomb. Towards Keith.

_Just a few more feet...!_

“AXCA!” He could hear Lotor shouting. “What is going on! Who is attacking us!?”

“I don’t know!” There was a response from…from someone, he couldn’t see clearly. “Narti? Narti’s not…internal audio and visual comms are down, we have to—"

“ **ATTENTION, crew of the ship we’re about to attack!** ”

Everyone – even Shiro – froze.

“ **We know why you’re here, and we’re gonna stop you. We know who you got on board, and we’re gonna take ‘em from you! Surrender now, or face the wrath of the crew of the _İrem_! _BWA_ HAHA!!**”


	11. Ayrışma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the previous chapter, work has been slow, but I have still been writing this. Albeit, I've also been involved with a few other things. I've thus created a new series, [Bangs and Thangs](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1106265). Items currently published include:
> 
> -a short story about a good were-doge  
> -a Sheith Big Bang entry about the dangers of listening to too much progressive rock  
> -a short story about how Shiro doesn't know his colors  
> -a short consentacle porn with an eldritch abomination and coffee
> 
> Also, yes, I have come to ship Sheith. To those misguided individuals thinking of sending ( _ahem_ ) less-than-civil discourses to me because of this (since this sadly seems to be something people spend their valuable time on for some reason), feel free to send me your real-life home addresses alongside your unfounded vitriolic outrage, so I may [respond in kind](http://www.glitterhatemail.com/). 
> 
> Never fear, your information will be safe with me if you actually take me up on my offer. But fair is fair, and it’s only fair your words have real consequences. If you’re brave enough to send those words to me, you’re clearly brave enough to handle sparkles. Heck, even if you don't send me your real-life address, you can expect glitter. All the glitter in your inbox.
> 
> You have been warned. :)

The _İrem_.

Shiro, at least for a second, stared dumbfoundedly at the canister Keith was floating in. He was sure he’d heard correctly, though then again, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore as he spat out a glob of disgusting blue blood from his mouth. Was the _İrem_ here? Of _all_ the ships to have arrived to render aid?

Have they come for him? To all curse him as Bakıcı surely did? How could they _possibly_ stand a chance against—

“ ** _THOSE COWARDLY TRAITORS!! THEY’RE HERE!! LET ME AT THEM!!_** ”

An angry, loud voice suddenly pierced through the stunned silence that had settled on the weapons bay. It was a female’s voice, whoever it was, and it was followed by another BANG, this time of a fist slamming into a wall.

“Zethrid, is this really the ti-“

Then came another _BANG_ – a shell of a Heretic’s ammo striking the wall. It broke whatever had held everyone from attacking; soon, lasers began whizzing overhead as Shiro forced himself onto his feet next to Keith’s canister.

“Don’t hit Shiro!” Lotor’s shouts became sharp as a laser snipped off a piece of hair. “Take him in alive! I still need him!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Hunk’s voice suddenly echoed on his other side, along with more blasts. “Shiro, get Keith out of there and let’s bail!”

“ _No_!” The prince’s voice began to come closer. “Ezor, release the bomb!! Do it now, I’ll get—”

Shiro’s eyes widened at those three words. Release the bomb. If the bomb was dropped—

_Keith was crying out for him to stop—Shiro couldn’t stop laughing as he destroyed his body on the İrem—_

and his hand finally grasped the side of the canister Keith was being held in.

“…K-keith…!” He croaked. “ _KEITH_!”

No response.

Shiro didn’t even realize he’d started punching the canister until he felt the wetness of the blue quintessence washing over him, followed by heat, and the heaviness of an abnormally warm body on him. Then, the next thing he knew, he was holding Keith in his arms. Finally, he-

And he felt a jolt of energy, causing him to let out a gasp as the quintessence was absorbed into him, felt the burning. Suddenly, he felt better. Not entirely, for even as he felt better, he somehow felt worse at the same time. But any quintessence, no matter the source, was almost always a shot of pure adrenaline for a Galra. A Galra like him…

“Shiro!?”

He knew what he had to do, suddenly. He felt alive again, his mind returning to him, his thoughts clear as day, his body ignoring the injuries it sustained and feeling light as air. Instantly he was on his feet, holding Keith – no, hoisting him onto his shoulder with a grunt.

Keith let out a muffled moan.

“ ** _I HAVE HIM!_** ” His voice boomed over the din of battle. “ ** _I HAVE KEITH!_** ”

“By the—” He could hear Lotor’s mask crack, a hiss on his teeth. “ _Ezor_! The bomb’s broken, this room is compromised!”

“Kyaa!?” There was a yelp right next to Shiro, but when he turned, nothing was there, even though the voice was right next to him. “I can’t activate the vents! The blasts from the enemy are disabling our systems!”

“Impossible...!” 

Shiro decided to thrust a hard, glowing right fist towards where the voice was coming from. Another surprised sound, this time frantic, followed by a string _of nope nope nope_ that skittered away from him and Keith.

“They couldn’t possibly have weaponry to dent our defenses!” There was disgust in Lotor’s tone as he began to get closer to Shiro, leaping over a blast sent by a Heretic shot by Lance, of all people. “Not with _their_ ship! Unless—"

**_BOOM._ **

Everyone went flying again. Shiro held Keith tight as he went sideways, this time into a pile of metal boxes. Again, pain shot through him, but this time, bolstered by the new quintessence introduced, he could easily force himself to power through it. Maybe the strange, more positive feeling he was experiencing was more changes that he was certain would be coming. He hated it, yet he welcomed it at the same time.

What more horrors could possibly happen to him, that hadn’t occurred yet?

“…that wasn’t the _İrem_.” The sourness in Lotor’s voice only increased, even as his others around him seemed to panic more. “That was a volley from _our_ technology. Axca, report!”

“Our defensive weapon systems are now malfunctioning from the hits we've sustained! Shields are dropping faster than we can replenish them!” Pidge was grunting as she tried to hit…someone. He couldn’t see who, but elsewhere someone went down. “Sire, we’re completely defenseless! We must retreat!”

“ _No_!” Lotor’s voice sharpened. “I’ll seal this room off, but we need to secure Shiro first.”

“But _Lotor_ —”

“Axca.” Lotor’s voice actually raised at this. “I will _not_ go through all of this with nothing to show for it!”

“And _we don’t retreat_!” The very angry-sounding voice came back as, all of a sudden, a very large, very enraged, big-eared Galra soldier leaped down in front of Shiro, cracking her knuckles. She seemed not to care that they were both covered in Blue, or that her own helmet was off. “I’ll handle him, this Blue gunk doesn’t scare _me_!”

“Zethrid, _no_!” The voice of…he wasn’t sure who, it didn’t matter. It sounded desperate. “Don’t! Just breathing the fumes will—”

“Then I’ll hold my breath!” She prepared to swing. “You girls take care of the others! I’ve got Shiro!”

Shiro actually growled as he leaned in, right arm glowing with brighter energy than he could recall doing before. How _dare_ they. Let her come. Let them try and take away his crew again. He wouldn’t hold back.

“Oh _heck_ no!” That was when Lance jumped onto a box and aimed at the large Galra. “Sorry, lady, but I’ve got a bit of an itchy trigger finger!”

“Oh yeah!?” She responded by picking up the box as one grabbed a ball. “You want a _piece_ of me, pipsqueak!? _HERE_!!”

The box with Lance still on it was tossed all the way across the weapons bay, Lance’s high-pitch screech echoing right into Shiro’s eardrums. He couldn’t help but wince, but he knew what he had to do while his opponent was distracted: _punch her hard_.

She didn’t even see it coming as his right hand – still glowing with energy – threw a mean hook. The large half-Galra’s face smoked as she flew, her own screams coming mere seconds after Lance’s. It made him glad to hear someone, anyone, on the other side suffer, after all of the indignities. It made him crave more of the same. To hear everyone scream as he crushed them underfoot for _everything_ they had _done_ to him—

Then Keith gasped on his shoulder from the tightening grip around his diaphragm, and Shiro remembered why he was here.

_Save…save Keith. Then…escape. We need to…escape._

So he did the next thing he could think of: _run_.

Then he blinked, once, twice, and realized he shouldn’t have run.  He didn’t know how long he’d been running, but once he re-gained himself (again. He kept losing himself more and more—) and shook off the initial high of the new quintessence flowing through his veins, he realized he was lost. _Very_ lost.

He didn’t know the _Kan Tarlası_. Dansçı had given him a tour, that was true but he only knew where the prisoner hold was, along with the room they kept dragging him into. And the room where he’d eaten with his Paladins. The med bay. Everything else had been blocked off, or perhaps he had forgotten he’d seen it.

He shut his eyes. He could feel his heart start to beat erratically again, and—

“Nn.”

Shiro’s ears flicked, and he froze. On his shoulders, Keith stirred, and moved.

“…Keith.” Relief washed over him. Keith was ok. The man who called him brother, who had gone to the ends of the universe for him, was all right. He was _alive_ , and he’d saved him. Just like Keith had saved Shiro. “ _Keith_. Are you ok?”

He could feel Keith’s nose press into his chest as he let out another groan. He felt himself stiffen as the thought occurred to him that, perhaps, Keith had not seen him in full before. He’d been there when he transformed, right? He’d not, however, seen him after.

He didn’t know. Out of everyone, Keith didn’t know the truth about him. How would he react? Would he attack Shiro as Zarkon, as Shiro had attacked Keith as just another Galra? What perfect karma it would be, then, for him.

“Mm _mnn_ shiro?” Meanwhile, the other’s hands went towards his temples. “That you?”

“…Yeah.” Was this fear in his heart what Keith had felt when he re-met Shiro after so long? “It’s me. Are you all right?”

“Hot.” Keith licked his lips. “Not good. Tastes like _that_ stuff. Long…long was I out?”

That stuff. The Blue. Keith had been in that vat on the bomb for…for…Shiro stopped walking. How long _had_ he been in it? Hopefully, hopefully it won’t cause Keith to turn again. And—wait. How long _had_ Keith been out?

“I don’t know.” How could he know when it was clear had lost perspective of time again? Still, he keeps his voice level. “I’ve been going in and out myself. Been changing.”

Silence, from Keith.

“It’s not been…fun.” Shiro swallowed. Still no response. “Keith, I—”

“You look like Zarkon.”

Keith’s voice was flat, his words blunt. Of course. Keith was not generally one to mince words, and naturally he picked things up quickly. He’d fought the mad emperor up-close; he would know what Zarkon looked like. What Shiro now looked like.

Shiro felt his breath still as he craned his eyes down onto his shoulder, fear creeping back into the exhilaration the extra Blue was boosting him up with. Keith, for his part, was staring up at him, looking utterly unimpressed.

“…And here I thought what happened to _me_ when I got doused was weird.” Keith sagged a little beneath Shiro’s hold with a sigh; had he been apprehensive? Again, Shiro couldn’t blame him at all. “Can you, uh, set me down?”

“Are you sure?”

“I should be fine.” Shiro felt Keith shrug. “We have to find the others, anyways, right?”

“Yeah…”

Keith’s hand went to his side, grasping at his left hip. Then his right hip. His eyes widened.

“Wait—”

_BOOM._

The two were tossed into the side of the ship. Thankfully, Shiro was able to keep his balance, and he caught Keith before he slammed too hard into the wall.

“What’s wrong?”

“My blade.” There was rising panic in Keith’s voice. “I…I can’t find it. It’s not on me, it’s not _here_.”

Shiro stiffened. They had to get off the ship before it was torn apart; they had to get into their Lions, try and re-connect, and leave. They couldn’t afford delay. Why couldn’t Keith understand that?

No. _No_ , Keith’s blade is important, but he _needed_ to get _off_ of this _ship_ —

“Shiro? Shiro—”

His eyes opened. The desert. He felt Keith’s shoulder on his, as he stared down at his arm. He was back on Earth. Back here, during the halcyon moments between his return to Earth with his message about Voltron, and the discovery of the Blue Lion.

Blue. Blue, like the quintessence that transformed him further into the monster he had already been.

“Glad to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.”

He turned to face Keith, only to find Hunk staring at him.

“—ot them!” He was holding his bayard. “Shiro? You with me now?”

“ _What?_ ”

“We just recovered the bayards.” Hunk stared. “Think you can handle using yours?”

“I…” Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think I couldn’t?”

He wasn’t on the same deck before. He was back in the dining room, with everyone else, Keith included. Keith, for his part, was leaning against the door, looking paler than before save for flushed cheeks. He had his bayard in sword form, but there was no sign of his blade.

Lance and Pidge were nowhere to be found.

_What is happening?!_

“Because you couldn’t before.” Keith’s voice is quiet, worried. “You weren’t…able to.”

Shiro stared at Keith, his words not making sense. Why wouldn’t his bayard work? Why didn’t he remember _that_? What in the world was he doing back here in this awful room where Lotor had laid his true identity bare?

He didn’t notice the growl in his throat, or the dozens of soldiers at his feet, or even spot the Castle of Lions and the massive, sleek Galra ship floating out in the windows behind him. Not at first.

Then he did notice, and his heart skipped beats.

“We need to get off this ship,” he croaked. “We need to find everyone else.”

“You don’t…Lance and Pidge are altering the ship’s atmospheric settings to vent non-oxygenated molecules.” Hunk’s yellow bayard shifted back to its dormant form as he frowned.  “We’ll have the ship secure, so we should be able to get to our Lions soon, but…”

“But?”

“…I think you and Keith should get to the Lions.” Hunk’s own tone betrayed how much he didn’t like this idea. How much he didn’t like what he was saying, yet it was clear he felt like he had no choice but to insist it. He never could keep a secret, after all. “Get them secure and get back to the Castle. We’ll meet up with you once we’ve cleaned everything up. Your blade will show up, Keith, I… _I promise_.”

“How do you know?”

“I…” Hunk swallowed. “I just do, ok? My hunches are never wrong, are they? Just trust me on this, _someone_ will find it.”

Shiro stared at Hunk, eyes narrowed. Hunk, in return, caught his expression and couldn’t stop from reacting, his eyebrows raised slightly. A bead of sweat was starting to visible form on Hunk’s temple as Shiro kept looking at him, his hackles raising more and more with each passing moment. He took a step forward, and Hunk took a step back, shutting his eyes as the sweat trickled down his face.

He was hiding something.

“Hunk.”

“Shiro—”

“ _Hunk!_ ” His temper flared, and he found himself yelling. The other visibly winced, even stepped back and shut his eyes. “If there’s something I need to know, you need to tell me _now_!”

“I…” Hunk shook his head, and Shiro felt his face become hot. “Shiro, I—”

He nearly lost it then and there when he didn’t get the answer he wanted. Nearly slammed Hunk into the wall so he might scream at him. Scream at him and shake him and rip him apart like the vermin he was acting like. His hand was actually up, his arm was swinging, and something was streaming out of his screaming mouth, and though he didn’t know what he _was_ saying, he knew it was something terrible and vile and so very cruel.

Hunk shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow, and then—

_No no no noNO NO NO NONO **NONONO** —_

His fist smashed against someone’s face, but it wasn’t Hunk’s. He didn’t know whose face it was. It might have been Lotor’s. It might have been an Arena opponent. Maybe it was Haggar. He couldn’t figure it out, anymore. It meant nothing. Nothing.

“Hn!” He could hear Lotor grunting, jumping backwards, landing some measure away. “What are you expecting to accomplish in your current state? Killing me won’t do you any good.”

Shiro stared at him blankly, uncomprehending as to how he got so close to Lotor. Or how long he’d been staring at Lotor, or how long Lotor had been talking. What was the prince _talking_ about? And where was he? When did he get to this place? There were a great many holes in the wall, large enough to fit a Galra soldier in each of them. It looked like another cargo bay. Maybe it was.

There was a large metal bulb still in the wall, which Lotor was standing next to.

“…As I said…you can have this pod.” To Shiro’s surprise, Lotor motioned to it, letting it open. “You, and him. I have my own ride coming; I don’t need it. You can come with me, or you go back to that castle. But I like to think you’ll have slightly better chances with me in the long-term.”

“Wh…” There was a hand on his arm. Keith? “What are you—what did you _do_? How did I get _here_?”

“Shiro—"

“You still think you’re on a different deck, don’t you?” Lotor tilted his head, clearly interested in Shiro’s response. Surely not concerned; he was an enemy. “I’m not surprised; disassociating amnesia is a symptom of what you have. It starts early and gets worse with time. Tell me, Shiro – what is the last thing you can _really_ remember, hm?”

Shiro’s answer was stuck in his throat. He knew that whatever he answered with would only satisfy whatever sick game Lotor was playing with the Paladins, with _him, Shiro_. He knew that Lotor would see right through him, and knew that Shiro was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. He wouldn’t give the other that satisfaction, no matter how petty it was to stay silent.

He didn’t need help. He wanted to believe it, still. And he would never seek help from Zarkon’s son, no matter what was offered.

“You will not survive, Shiro.” Lotor’s eyes narrowed. “Not like you are, not for long. I can help you, but only if you let me. Only if you do as I tell you. You don’t have an alternative. At least, not one that will end well for you. So-”

“Get out.” Keith’s tone was cold, even as his grip on the Heretic was unsteady in his other arm. Or was it anger from Keith? Shiro found himself uncertain. “Now.”

He could hear the other start to pull the trigger. Normally Shiro would try and stop him. At the least to keep such a valuable prisoner alive. But this is not normal. _He_ is not normal anymore. He didn’t care what happened to Lotor, if he lived or died, if it was Shiro tearing his throat out or Keith shooting him. Keith deserved to shoot someone. Keith got shot before.

By _him_.

Maybe Keith would shoot Lotor and Zarkon. Maybe this would all end. Maybe it was better that way.

Yet the ticks went by, and the shot didn’t go. Instead, Lotor was ducking into the hole in the wall.

“Ah. Before I go.” There was a beeping sound around Shiro’s neck, deep in the collar that Shiro had almost forgotten was there. It didn’t fall off, though. “Consider it a gesture of good faith, for when we meet again. And I assure you, we _will_ meet again.”

The shaft began to close.

“ _Father_.”

The tone was teasing. Almost amused, just like the parting smirk on Lotor's face. The next thing Shiro knew, his glowing Galra fist was embedded into the door, right next to where Lotor’s smirking face had been mere ticks before. That monster, that _jerk_ …

“Shiro!” Keith’s voice cut through his rage. “Shiro…my Lion. I can hear it again.”

Shiro turned to see Keith’s flushed face, eyes wide with relief. A smile began to play on his own lips. The collar was deactivated; with a tug he ripped his own collar off, smashing it underfoot as it dropped to the floor.

“Ok…ok, there’s a sub-hangar where the Lions are being held.” Shiro ripped the collar right off of Keith’s neck, causing him to stagger forward. “Woah…wow. Ok, the other Lions are telling everyone how to get there. You got it, too, Shiro?”

“…Yeah.” Shiro nodded automatically. “I got it. Lead the way.”

Keith beamed with such relief and happiness, turning back towards the doorway of the bay to do as Shiro asked. He didn’t see Shiro’s face fall as the doors slid open with a flick of Keith’s hand. Didn’t see the fear etched in Shiro’s eyes as he fell back, hand on his chest as he tried to catch a breath when he started to run, to keep in pace with Keith.

There was nothing in his head but his own jumbled, decaying thoughts. No directions, no sensations, no sound from anywhere - or anyone but him.

The Black Lion wasn’t responding to him at all.


End file.
